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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641435">Bells Will Be Ringing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47'>scifigrl47</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking by people who should not matchmake, Party Planning, Romantic misunderstandings, background relationships Carol/Jess, holiday fic, superheroes doing nothing heroic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:40:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>29,651</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is in love with Tony Stark.  He's determined that he's finally going to do something about that.  Christmas is a time for love and togetherness, and now may be the best chance he has.</p><p>But some things aren't as simple as they should be.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>400</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1137</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Author's Notes: I'm pulling some people from the comics in this time, for various reasons.  The major one is Greer Nelson, otherwise known as Tigra.  She is a cat lady.  She very, very often falls victim to 'men making thinly veiled decisions to draw/write sexy ladies.'  I dislike these men, and am ignoring their stupid canon, because I really like Greer and she deserves better.</p><p>https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tigra</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve Rogers had never believed in love at first sight.  For him, love wasn’t a thunderbolt, it wasn’t a life changing in a heartbeat, in a breath.  It wasn’t a single instant of knowing, it wasn’t souls meeting, it wasn’t fate or destiny, or anything the poets wrote about.</p><p>Love, for Steve, was an incoming tide.</p><p>It was standing alone and untouched, and barely noticing the first waves that lapped against his toes.  It was watching, perhaps a bit annoyed, as the water rose around his ankles.   It was barely noticing when it hit his knees, because at that point, he was more occupied with keeping his balance as the sands shifted under his feet.  He’d take a step forward, or a step back, trying to find solid ground again, and in the meantime, the water kept rising.</p><p>It was slow.  Slow enough that he was surprised with it reached his hands, reached his hips, reached his chest.  He was already wet.  Of course he was.  The water had always been there.  Hadn’t it?  When had it gotten so high?  Why hadn’t he noticed when the sting of salt his his lips?  Why hadn’t he retreated long before that happened?</p><p>When the final wave came, when it crashed over his head, when it swallowed him whole, it was never a surprise.</p><p>Love was a incoming tide.  Slow.  Steady.</p><p>Inevitable.</p><p>You could fight a lot of things.  But when he fell in love, it seemed like a thing that was always going to happen.  Regular as sunrise.  Natural as the rains.</p><p>And if love was a tide, then loving Tony Stark was a rip tide.  Hidden currents and invisible shoals.  He had no control over it, and he still wasn’t sure it wouldn’t kill him.</p><p>But it was a tide, none the less.</p><p>*</p><p>“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”</p><p>“She’s singing,” Sam said, his chin propped on one hand.  “Should we be worried about the singing?”</p><p>“No,” Tony said, frowning down at his phone.  “The singing’s normal.  The outfit, though?  You should be worried about the outfit.”</p><p>“Cut it out, both of you,” Steve said, his voice pitched low.  He smiled at Jan, who smiled back at him from beneath the fuzzy brim of a very impressive hat.  “I take it we’ll be talking about the holiday party today?”</p><p>Jan did a spin, her crimson red coat flaring out around her legs, the white puff on her hat bouncing with the movement.  She came to a stop facing the table, and slammed a phone book-sized stack of papers down in front of her.  She leaned forward, smiling in a manner that Steve honestly found to be kind of worrying.</p><p>“It is party planning time,” she sing-songed, and everyone else groaned.  A ball of paper came flying over the table, and she batted it away.  “I’m going to ignore that, Barton.”</p><p>“I mean, by saying you’ll ignore it, you’re kinda not ignoring it,” Clint said, as Carol put a foot on the back of his chair and gave him a shove.  His chair slid sideways, and Clint made a grab for the table to keep himself upright.  “Hey!”</p><p>“Children, let’s behave,” Natasha said, crossing her legs.  “Or Santa won’t bring you any presents.”</p><p>“You can put ‘Santa’ on the tag all you want,” Clint said, scooting his chair back to the table.  Greer and Bruce moved theirs aside so he could huddle between them.  “I know that they’re from Tony.”</p><p>“I am regretting buying chairs on wheels,” Tony said to Steve.  “Mistakes were made.”</p><p>“How can you possibly call our monthly office chair derby a  mistake?” Sam asked, folding his arms on the top of the table.  “I mean, damn.  That’s cold.”</p><p>“Maybe we should let him win next month,” Carol said.  She put a pen between her upper lip and her nose, and Jess giggled.</p><p>“I shall not yield,” Thor said, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.  “A race shall be fair, or be no race at all.”</p><p>“This explains the damage to the walls in the vestibule,” Jan said. “Doesn’t it?”</p><p>“That was actually unrelated,” Carol told her.  “That was-”</p><p>“For the last time,” Clint said, his head falling back.  “It was not me.”</p><p>Jan studied him, her mouth a flat line.  “You’re getting a bail fund for Christmas, that’s what you’re getting.”</p><p>“Way ahead of you,” Natasha said.  She smiled.  “Way.  Way ahead of you.”</p><p>“You better pay my damn bail, you used me as a distraction,” Clint said.</p><p>“Yes.  Yes, I did,” Natasha said.  “However, if you were better at being a distraction, you wouldn’t have gotten caught.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t have gotten caught if you’d warned me about the ‘using me as a distraction’ plan.” Clint tossed a pen at her, and she caught it out of the air with a smirk.</p><p>“Right,” Jan said, drawing the word out.  “Moving on from friendship-shattering betrayals-”</p><p>“No, we’re cool, like I said, she paid bail,” Clint said.</p><p>“Why-” Jan pinched the bridge of her nose.  “People.  We’re at a twelve.  I need you all at like, a six.  Max a six.  I’d prefer a four.”</p><p>“I don’t think this group knows a setting lower than an eight,” Sam said.  Tony reached around Steve, his hand up, and Sam gave him a high five.</p><p>“Okay,” Steve said, pushing himself to his feet.  He waited until everyone settled down, and then he inclined his head in Jan’s direction, his hands braced on the tabletop.  “The floor is yours, Wasp. I’m sure that everyone’s going to give you their undivided attention.”  He looked around the table, meeting everyone’s eyes in turn.  “Right?”</p><p>Jan waited, hands on her hips, as everyone subsided, shuffling their chairs back into place, turning to face her.  “How do you do that?”</p><p>“Practice,” Steve said, sitting back down  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tony try to hide his smile behind the palm of his hand, and Steve kicked him under the table.  “Right.  So the holiday party?”</p><p>“The holiday party,” Jan agreed.  She rested one delicate hand on top of the papers.  “Everyone’s getting an assignment-” A chorus of groans rose, and she waited for them to subside before she continued.  “Yes, responsibility.  It’s terrible.” </p><p>She gathered up the papers and started around the table, handing stacks to each of them as she passed.  “I have chosen assignments well within your abilities and your-”  She paused behind Clint’s chair, and he grinned up at her. “Attention span,” she said, handing it over.</p><p>“Challenge accepted,” he said.</p><p>“If you fold that into a paper airplane, you will never see me coming,” she said.  She leaned over, the rest of the papers hugged to her chest, to whisper directly in his ear.  “I know where you sleep.”</p><p>Clint paused.  “Challenge being reconsidered.”</p><p>“Good choice.”  She straightened up, flipping the tail of her hat over her shoulder, and continued around the page.  “Remember, we are still having a non-denominational holiday party, but Ben Grimm reminds us that his Hanukkah party at the Baxter Building is on for this weekend despite the recent…”  Her mouth pursed.  “Unpleasantness with the squid.”</p><p>“Fucking Namor,” Tony muttered, and Steve could only nod.</p><p>“Yes, well, the damage was minimal, and in Ben’s words, ‘they tried to kill us and they failed, let’s eat’ is appropriate for the season, so we’re all expected.” She handed Carol a fat stack of papers.  “Consider making a donation to the Yancy Street Community Center in his name.”</p><p>She made her way around the table, emptying her arms as she went.  “Our party is a buffet this year, we simply have too many people to do a sit down meal, and super heroes have…”  She paused.  “Unreliable schedules, so this makes it so people can come and go when it’s most convenient for them.  Natasha’ll be double checking the guest list, so if there’s anyone you want that I might not have in the group rolodex, please make sure you get their info to her ASAP.”</p><p>Tony raised a hand.  “I get veto power.”</p><p>“No, you don’t,” Jan said.</p><p>“Are we inviting Namor?”</p><p>“Absolutely not,” Jan said from between gritted teeth.</p><p>“Objection withdrawn,” Tony said.</p><p>“Ignoring you now.  The main buffet will be set up in the formal dining room, snacks, drinks and desserts will be in the living room,” Jan continued.  “The media room will be set up with a rotation of holiday specials and movies, and Jarvis has the ‘on demand’ requests ready to go.  Please check the floor plan that’s in your packet, and be prepared to move any personal affects out of the ‘splash zone,’ or don’t complain if something ends up being used as a chair which shouldn’t be.”</p><p>Greer flipped through her pages, her long nails tapping against the tabletop.  “When will we be setting up?”</p><p>“Professional decorating crew is coming in 48 hours before the start of the party,” Jan said.  “Which brings to me to my next point.”  She turned around, collecting a box from her chair and putting it on the table.  “I want mistletoe.”</p><p>“Mistletoe attracts creeps,” Tony said, his attention on his phone.</p><p>She gave him a look.  “Know how you avoid that?  Don’t invite creeps to your party, Tony.”</p><p>“I mean, I tried to take Stephen Strange off of the guest list and you made me put him back,” Tony pointed out.</p><p>“Do you want curses?” Jess asked him, her foot braced on the edge of the table.  “Because that’s how you get curses.”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure he’s not a fairy,” Carol said.</p><p>“Pretty sure he’s still pretty good at curses,” Jess shot back.</p><p>“Stay away from the guest list, it is carefully considered to keep us on diplomatic terms with our peers,” Jan said, her hands braced on the table.  “But no.”  She lifted the lid from the box and pulled out what looked like a a cluster of mistletoe leaves with oversized white berries sculpted out of metal.  She held it up and gave it a shake, and the berries rang like bells, a high, bright swirl of notes.</p><p>Jan smiled.  “We’ll mount this.  If someone wants a kiss beneath the mistletoe, they can ring the bells.  If someone wants to give a kiss, they can respond.”</p><p>She leveled a look at the room. “No kissing unless the bells are rung.  Got it?”</p><p>Tony raised his hand.  “Please save all questions to the end of the presentation,” Jan said, her voice chipper.</p><p>“You know you can just ask Hank for a kiss, right?” Tony asked.</p><p>She gave him a look.  “It’s TRADITION.”</p><p>“You’re engaged.  Tell me you’ve kissed.”</p><p>“You’ve seen us kiss,” Jan said.</p><p>“Then you can just-”</p><p>“TRADITION,” Jan said, slapping her hands on the table, and the mistletoe bounced in place, ringing gently as it settled back against the wood.</p><p>If they kept talking, and Steve knew they were still talking, they never stopped talking, but he could no longer hear them.  His world had shrunk, to those gleaming bells.</p><p>And the beginnings of a plan.  A terrible, horrible plan.</p><p>Just right for Christmas.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“So, what’s your assignment?” Tony asked as the room cleared, people gathering their things and making their way to the door of the conference room.  He leaned back in his chair, one foot braced on the edge of the table, clearly in no hurry to get moving.</p><p>Steve looked down at the stapled stack of pages Jan had given him.  His name was printed at the top in alternating red and blue ink, and the exclamation point after it had a star instead of a dot.  There was no doubt who’d written it.  “Apparently, I’m in charge of desserts.”  He flipped the first page over.  “I mean.  In a manner of speaking, I’m in charge of it.  She’s given me a full breakdown of the guest list, their dietary restrictions, a list of approved bakeries and a ‘suggested’ menu.” He glanced at Tony, his lips twitching.  “Somehow, I get the feeling that she doesn’t really trust me.”</p><p>“She’s left it to you to actually press the button,” Tony said, grinning back at him.  His head tipped towards the door, and he rolled to his feet, leaving the chair bounce in his wake.  “For Jan?  That shows a remarkable amount of trust.”</p><p>“I’m going to take your word for it,” Steve said.  He stood, gathering his things.  He was more than a little pleased that Tony made no move to leave without him.  “What’d you get?”</p><p>Tony’s eyebrows arched.  “I get the bill,” he said, his eyes dancing.  Steve laughed, and Tony made a grab for his papers.  “If you want help…”</p><p>Steve fended him off with one hand.  “Off.  I can order a cake, Tony.  Even I’m capable of that.”  He glanced over as they headed out of the room.  “You’re coming, aren’t you?” Tony looked at him, his face puzzled, and Steve cleared his throat. “To the party, I mean?”</p><p>“As much as I’d like to feign a business emergency, Pepper’s also on the guest list, and she will rat me out in a New York minute,” Tony said, easily keeping pace with Steve.  He smiled, tucking his hands in his back pockets. “Which I’m told is a shorter, and, in many ways, ruder minute.”</p><p>“I’m sure she’d cover for you,” Steve said, trying to keep a straight face through that lie.</p><p>Tony’s head tipped to the side as he considered that. “Would you?” </p><p>“Would I what?” Steve asked.  “Lie to Jan for you?  Not if it means I’m stuck at this thing by myself.”</p><p>Tony laughed, warm and easy.  “When are you ever by yourself?” he asked.</p><p>“Every party I’ve ever been to,” Steve said, his voice dire, and Tony laughed again.</p><p>“Right, you are the worst liar, I don’t even-”</p><p> </p><p>“Cap?"</p><p>Steve stopped, looking back over his shoulder as Greer came loping up the hallway behind them.  Despite it being mid-winter, she was clad in a pair of black shorts and a gauzy, soft-looking shirt that threatened to slip down her shoulder with every step.  Intellectually, he knew that her fur kept her warm, even in much colder temps, but he always had to resist offering to find her a sweater.  “Everything okay?” he asked as she came to a skipping halt next to them.  </p><p>Her teeth flashed in a bright smile, showing off the tips of her incisors.  “Everything’s great,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face with the back of one hand.  “Can I talk to you for a second?”  Her eyes darted in Tony’s direction.  “Alone?” she added, her tone apologetic.</p><p>Tony clutched his chest with both hands.  “Madam!  I’m wounded!  And here I thought  we were friends.”</p><p>She braced a hand on her hip, her head tipped to the side.  “We are, which is why I know you have a big mouth.”  </p><p>“I will have you know that I’m the absolute soul of discretion,” Tony told her.  “Any secrets you may have heard from me are my own, and that just makes them funny, self-depreciating stories.”</p><p>“Is that what you tell yourself?” Steve asked him.</p><p>“It’s what I tell everyone,” Tony said with a smile.</p><p>“And no one believes you.” Greer made a shooing movement with her other hand.  “I promise, I won’t break him.”</p><p>Tony’s eyes flicked in Steve’s direction, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I mean, you could try.  He seems very durable.”</p><p>Steve’s face heated, and he didn’t know why, or maybe he was just too much of a coward to think about it.  “Tony…”</p><p>“I’m going, I’m going,” Tony said, his voice full of laughter.  He raised a hand in a wave as he turned and headed off down the hallway.  </p><p>Steve resisted the urge to just watch him walk away.  It was harder than it should’ve been.  Instead, he turned his attention to Greer. “What can I do for you?” he asked, folding his party assignment and tucking the pages into his pocket.</p><p>She looked one way, and then the other, her hand catching his bicep.  “This way.”</p><p>“Wha-” Startled, Steve let Greer tug him down the hall and around the corner.  A few quick steps, and she was shoving a door open, pulling Steve along with her.  Steve’s head swung to the side.  “Wait, isn’t this the women’s locker room?”</p><p>“You’ve very observant,” Greer said, tugging him around the corner into the main room, where two long benches facing each other with floor to ceiling open lockers behind them.  It was a mirrored version of the men’s locker room, but less cluttered, and lacking that unfortunate stain on the ceiling.  Steve still didn’t know if Clint or Thor was responsible for that. </p><p>Greer let him go, plopping down on a bench and crossing her legs under her.  “What?  It was the closest open room.”</p><p>Steve stared at her.  “It’s the WOMEN’S locker room,” he said.  “I should not be here, Greer.”</p><p>She shrugged, and her shirt rippled with the movement of her shoulders.  “No one’s using it,” she said.  She reached up, pushing her hair back behind one pointed ear.  “Your hearing’s good.  Mine’s better.  I knew no one was in here.” She looked around.  “Besides, it’s just a locker room, right?”</p><p>“Right,” Steve said, taking a cautious seat on the bench across from her.  “What can I do for you?”</p><p>She took a deep breath.  “So.  I have a crush.”  She held up a hand, finger and thumb an inch away from each other.  “Just…  A little one.  But I was thinking of-” Another shrug, her hand falling back to her lap. “Doing something about it?”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Someone…  On the team?” he asked, and she nodded.  Steve took a deep breath.  “Okay, then I’m going to say the same thing that I’ve said to anyone considering a relationship with someone on the team.  You ask, you take your shot, and if the answer is no, you drop it.  If the answer is ‘not now’ or anything other than an enthusiastic ‘yes,’ then you back off and let the other person make the next move.  If it comes down to someone feeling uncomfortable or unsafe, then it is the other person who will be asked to leave the team.”</p><p>He leaned forward, meeting her eyes.  “Doesn’t matter the gender, the seniority on the team, or their powers.  If someone starts to feel uncomfortable or unsafe, that’s not acceptable.  Understood?”</p><p>Greer gave him a brisk salute and a bright smile.  “Yes, sir, Cap’n, sir!” She swung her legs down to the floor, her knees bumping together, and her toes pointing in  “I’ll slip him a note in class, do you like me?” She spread her hands wide.  “Check yes or no!”</p><p>Steve smiled back.  “Going to share a chocolate malted and hope he gives you his Varsity sweater?” he asked.</p><p>Greer laughed.  “And what would you know about varsity sweaters?” </p><p>“Sam showed me Happy Days,” Steve said.</p><p>“Oh, God, why?” she asked.</p><p>“It wasn’t that-”  She gave him a disbelieving look, and he smiled. “Okay.  It was.” She laughed again, and Steve braced his hands on the bench on either side of his hips.  “Is that all you needed?”</p><p>Greer made a face.  “No, I know the rules, I promise, I’m trying not to make things weird.” Her tail flicked behind her before settling down again, a nervous twitch of movement.  “I thought you could-” She gave him a hopeful smile, her eyebrows arching.  “Help?”</p><p>“Help,” Steve repeated.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>He took a deep breath.  “With…  What, exactly?”</p><p>“Helping me get a date,” she said, in tones of extreme patience.</p><p>“Uh, I don’t know what you’ve heard,” Steve said, picking his words carefully, “but that’s not really…  That’s not part of my skillset.”</p><p>“Yes, that’s…  That’s actually exactly what I’d heard,” she said, but she was smiling, wide and bright and real, and it took the sting out of the words.  “But he talks to you more than anyone else, so…”  Her smile faded, just a little, it was still there, but it seemed strained now.  A little uncertain.  “I don’t want to make things awkward, either, so I thought, maybe, if he has a significant other, or someone he’s seeing, and he’s keeping that private from the rest of the team, which, you know, that’s his right, but if that’s what’s happening, the person he’s most likely to have told is you.”</p><p>She blinked up at Steve, black lashes sweeping over golden eyes.  “You’re the one he talks to.  Everyone else talks to him, but you’re-  You’re the only one he really talks to.” She smiled.  “You’re the one he trusts.”</p><p>Steve stared down at her, confusion giving way to something far, far worse.  Because he was stupid.  He was so stupid.  Someone on the team.</p><p>He suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here.  Of all the places for his heart to be broken, the woman’s locker room hadn’t even been on the list of possibilities.  It felt somehow appropriate anyway.</p><p>“Does he,” he said, the words slipping through frozen lips.  He tried to swallow, and his stomach turned over, a sick, hallow twist of nausea.  “I don’t-”</p><p>Greer’s eyebrows drew up in a faint frown.  “Yes?” she asked, and it was strange when things that should be questions weren’t and things that were questions shouldn’t have been.  “I don’t want you to…  Tell me anything you shouldn’t, I know that’s not right, but I thought-”</p><p>“I don’t know anything more about his love life than you do,” Steve said.  “But I’m-”  He smiled, and it felt like his face would crack.  “I’m sure he’d-  Love to have dinner.  Or something.”  The words stumbled, every attempting ending sounding worse to his ears.  “With you.”</p><p>He probably would.  Steve had seen Greer down in the workshop a few times, perched on the edge of the workbench, idly playing with a holographic design or just dancing to the music Tony blasted every time he was working on something serious.  Steve wondered if Tony danced with her sometimes.</p><p>He probably would.  And would probably have fun doing it.</p><p>Steve took a deep breath and it hurt, it ached in a way he didn’t really understand.  A phantom pain, almost forgotten, almost buried.  Something he should’ve long since outgrown.</p><p>In more ways than one.</p><p>Steve let out his breath, and it formed words, almost against his will. “You should ask him.”  </p><p>“Yeah?”  Greer studied him, and she was smart and warm and fun and beautiful, sharp as a knife and so warm.  She loved sushi and dancing and loud music and people, just like Tony.  </p><p>Just like Tony.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said, and he could almost swear he meant it.</p><p>“I’m thinking of asking him to Jan’s party,” she said.</p><p>“He’s going,” Steve said.</p><p>She gave him a look.  “Everyone’s going,” she said, “Or they’re skipping town before Jan finds them.”  She bit her lip.  “But maybe that’s the problem, everyone’s going to be there.”</p><p>“Everyone’s going to be there,” Steve agreed, because agreeing was easier than trying to think.</p><p>“And I think he likes me, we shoot hoops sometimes, and Jess convinced him to play badminton with us-”</p><p> </p><p>Steve paused, confusion sweeping over him again, a little thicker this time. “Badminton,” he repeated.</p><p>She waved a hand at him.  “I know it’s stupid, but she really likes it and I have certain…”  Her fingers flexed, nails like claws.  “Instincts.  But we do that, and when Clint and Carol and I watch hockey, he’ll join us.”</p><p>None of this made sense. “He…  Does?” Steve asked.</p><p>“I know, I didn’t think he liked hockey,” she said, her head tipping to the side, her eyes narrowing, “maybe he does, or maybe it’s just-” She made an ‘I don’t know’ gesture, half shrug, half wave.  “Sports?”</p><p>“Sports,” Steve said.  “He…  Likes sports.”  He tried the words on for size and they didn’t fit at all.</p><p>“So I thought, maybe he likes me, but he still does his shifts at the VA, so I thought he might have met someone there or might be-”</p><p>“Sam.”</p><p>Greer jumped, and that’s when Steve realized he’d all but shouted that.  She looked at him, her eyes wide, and Steve stared back.  “You’re talking about Sam, of course, you’re talking about Sam, right, right, of course we’re-”  Relief made him dizzy and he rocked forward, grabbing her arm.  “Sam.”</p><p>She covered his hand with hers, her grip firm.  “Sam,” she agreed.  She looked concerned all of a sudden.  “We were-  Talking about Sam?” She ducked forward, trying to meet Steve’s eyes.  “Are you-  Are you all right?”</p><p>“I’m fine, I’m-”  He closed his eyes.  “Oh, God, I’m a terrible friend.”</p><p>That made her laugh.  “You really aren’t,” she said.  Her fingers squeezed his, holding on tight.  “So-”</p><p>“Yes,” Steve said and he could mean it this time, with all his heart.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Yes, I think you should ask Sam out,” Steve said, and words didn’t taste like copper anymore.  “No.  He’s not seeing anyone.  That’s-  That’s not a secret.  His last breakup was sad but mutual, she was a really nice lady who couldn’t handle all-”  He tugged his hand away, and she let him go.  “All of this.”</p><p>Greer nodded.  “I don’t have that problem,” she said.  “With…  All this.”</p><p>“No.  You don’t.” Steve took a deep breath, and this one burned in an entirely new way.  “But no.  I don’t know of any reason why you shouldn’t…”  He smiled, and she smiled back. “Ask Sam out.”</p><p>Greer nodded.  “So you’ll help me?”</p><p>Steve blinked.  “Wait, what-”</p><p>“This feels like an HR violation.” </p><p>Steve looked up as Carol poked her head around the row of lockers.  “We all okay over here?” she asked, her hands braced on the ends of the towel around her neck.  “Need us to duck back out?”</p><p>“We’re good,” Greer said with a grin.  “Just strategizing.”</p><p>Jess’ head popped into view over Carol’s shoulder, a wicked grin on her face.  “Strategizing sexy times?” she asked, and Carol reached back, putting a hand on top of her head and pushing her back. “Nooooooooo!  You promised I could ask if they weren’t naked!”</p><p>“We-  We weren’t naked,” Steve started, but Greer was laughing so hard that he was pretty sure no one heard him.</p><p>“That was my mistake,” Carol said, ignoring Jess’ flailing hands.  “You sound like a thirteen year old, Jess, this is undignified.”</p><p>“If they were having sex in here I deserve to know!” Jess said, latching on to the side of the lockers.  “Because we were told WE couldn’t have sex in here, it’s not fair if Greer is bringing in her boytoys, this is just-”</p><p>“Let her go, let her go,” Greer said, shifting her position with her feet on the bench, falling into an easy crouch, her arms braced on her knees.  She grinned up at them.  “Sorry, I dragged him in here.”</p><p>“For sexy purposes?” Jess asked, and Steve scrubbed a hand over his face.</p><p>“Not for sexy purposes,” he said.  </p><p>“Kinda sexy purposes,” Greer said at the same time.</p><p>In the silence that followed, he peeked out from between his fingers to find both Carol and Jess staring at him.  Neither of them looked convinced.  He huffed out a breath, his hands dropping to his sides.  “Greer…”</p><p>They both looked at Greer, struggled to keep a straight face.  “I have a crush on Sam and I wanted Steve’s advice,” Greer said.  The tip of her tail flicked against the bench, then curled around her ankles.  </p><p>“You asked Steve for advice,” Carol said, her voice flat.  Greer nodded.  “Dating advice.”  Greer nodded again.  “Baby.  Baby, no.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Steve said, and Jess plopped down on the bench next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders.</p><p>“Don’t get us wrong, Cap, we love you,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder.  “But you’re not a good choice for love advice.”</p><p>He looked down at her, amused despite himself.  “Thanks a lot,” he said, trying not to smile.</p><p>Carol leaned back against the lockers, her hips canted forward.  “Next time?  Ask us.” She gave a firm nod.  “We have lots of advice.”</p><p>“It’s all terrible, but we’ve got it,” Jess agreed.</p><p>Greer looked up at Carol.  “How long has it been since you’ve had a date?” Carol opened her mouth and Greer rocked forward on the bench, grinning.  “With a man?” she added.</p><p>“At least a decade,” Carol said, her voice cheerful.  She crossed her arms over her chest.  “And think I still have Steve beat.”</p><p>“It’s been more than ten years for me,” Steve admitted, not that anyone was paying attention to him.  Jess patted him on the shoulder.  It was more reassuring than it should’ve been.  “They’re not wrong, though.”</p><p>“We’re not wrong,” Jess agreed.  She paused. “And wow, that’s terrifying.”</p><p>Carol straightened up.  “Okay.  We can do this.”  She pumped one hand over her head.  “I declare us to be the Council of Lesbians, dedicated to getting you a date.”</p><p>Steve stared at her.  “The Council of What?”</p><p>“And Steve,” Carol added.  “The Council of Lesbians and Steve.”</p><p>There was a long moment of silence.  “I’m bi,” Jess said.</p><p>“I THINK I’m straight,” Greer said, her lips pursed.  ‘I’m open to possibility, but for now-”  She gave a shrug, her hair bouncing around her shoulders.  “Straight?”</p><p>Natasha walked around the end of the lockers, clad in workout gear, a gym bag over her shoulder. “Demi,” she said, her voice bored.  “But sex is a good stress reliever.”  She dropped her bag onto the bench.  “Is there a reason why we’re sitting in the locker room, discussing sexual orientations?”</p><p>“I’ve formed the Council of Lesbians,” Carol said.  Natasha looked at her.  Looked at Steve.  “The Council of Lesbians and Steve.”</p><p>“Okay.  I call being Steve,” Natasha said, pulling her hair back.  “Are we still doing throws this afternoon?  Or did the Council of Unilateral Name Choices institute a change of plans and I wasn’t informed?”</p><p>Carol cracked her knuckles.  “Nope, looking forward to going judo on your ass.  We’re just going to talk about how Greer can woo a gentleman of her choosing at the same time.  Multitasking.” She opened a locker, tossing her towel in.  “Greer, Steve, you want in on some combat training?”</p><p>Greer bounced up, swinging her legs down to the floor.  “Oh, yes, please!”</p><p>Steve was already shaking his head.  “Thanks, but not today.” He pushed himself to his feet.  “I’ll get out of the way so you can change and-”</p><p>Greer whipped her shirt off, tossing it towards a locker, and leaving her clad in her shorts and a sports bra.  “Ready,” she said, pounding her fist into the palm of her other hand.</p><p>“I do love a practical woman,” Natasha said, her lips twitching.</p><p>“I’m-  I’m going to go now,” Steve said.</p><p>“The Council shall reconvene tomorrow at lunch,” Carol declared.</p><p>“The Council,” Natasha said.  Carol nodded.  “The Council of Lesbians.”</p><p>“And Steve,” Carol said.</p><p>“Let’s workshop that, shall we?” Natasha said as Steve made a desperate break for the door.</p><p>Once he was back in the hallway, Steve collapsed against the wall, his hands braced on his thighs, his head hanging down.  He took a deep breath, and another.  “Jarvis?”  He swallowed.  “Did Tony go back to the office?”</p><p>There was a beat, and then, “No.  He is in the workshop,” Jarvis said.  </p><p>Steve nodded.  “Working, then.”</p><p>“In a manner of speaking,” Jarvis said.  “Also playing, in a manner of speaking.  I doubt he would mind company, if that is what you were inquiring about?”</p><p>“No, I-”  He stopped.  “Yes.  I guess I was.” He straightened up.  “Thanks, Jarvis.”</p><p>“Of course, Steve.”</p><p>Steve pulled his phone from his pocket, walking up the hallway towards the elevator.  ‘Movie tonight?’ he sent to Sam as he stepped on.  </p><p>He watched the dots bounce, waiting for the reply.  ‘Depends.  What are you choosing?’</p><p>Steve smiled. ‘You can choose.’</p><p>‘It’s your turn.’</p><p>Steve started to type, then stopped.  ‘I’m a terrible friend, so you can choose.’</p><p>There was a moment of pause.  ‘Well, I’d say you’re not, but I do want to choose, so…  You okay?’</p><p>Steve nodded, as if Sam could see that.  ‘Just fine.  Marx Brothers, then?’</p><p>‘Deal.  See you at nine.’</p><p>After a quick trip to his apartment to collect a sketchbook, Steve retraced his steps, heading down to the workshop.  He paused outside the door, just taking a moment to let his pulse settle.  Even through the glass, he could hear the driving beat of the one of Tony’s favorite albums, vibrating against his skin.  Inside, he could see Tony, surrounded by an ever expanding web of holograms.  He watched, his chest aching, as Tony moved, smooth and easy, his hands darting through the air.  His face caught the light, and he was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.</p><p>He raised a hand, tapping his knuckles on the door, not hard, not loud, but still, Tony’s head swung in his direction.  He smiled, waving Steve in, and Steve reached for the keypad.</p><p>He pushed the door open, leaning in.  “Up for some company?”</p><p>“Why do you knock?” Tony asked him, going back to his work with a smile.  “Why do you always knock?”</p><p>“Because my ma raised me right,” Steve said, bouncing his sketchpad against his thigh.  “Can I hide down here for a bit?”</p><p>Tony’s eyes flicked in his direction, a soft smile on his lips.  “Kids driving you crazy, Cap?”</p><p>“Let’s just say that I’m looking for a little peace and quiet and somehow-” His head tipped back, letting the music wash over him.  “This is the best I can find.”</p><p>“I do enjoy being the last resort of a desperate man,” Tony said, flicking a holographic structure away with one hand.  “Jay, drop the volume and load up something from the ‘old tunes for an old man’ list.”  The music trailed away, and when it came back, it was a driving jazz track.  Tony’s head tipped forward.  “Better?”</p><p>“You don’t have to-” Steve started, and Tony waved him off.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, find a couch and sit quietly, I have work to do,” he said.  “Oh.”  He turned away, crossing to the fridge next to the workbench.  “Hank McCoy sent me his newest find.”</p><p>Steve paused in the act of sitting down.  “Good?”</p><p>“Best I’ve had, but you’re the expert.”  Tony pulled a glass bottle from the fridge and tossed it to Steve.  “Pure cane sugar, real vanilla.”</p><p>Steve caught it one handed, rolling it over to look at the label.  It had a certain overblown charm, someone having a lot of fun with graphic design and what they considered an ‘old timey’ soda bottle should look like.  He smiled.  “Know what I want?” he asked, looking up.  Tony met his eyes, his eyebrows arching in an unspoken question.  Steve smiled.  “Egg cream.”</p><p>“There’s seltzer, milk and chocolate syrup in the kitchen,” Tony pointed out.</p><p>Steve’s nose wrinkled.  “It’s not really an egg cream unless you order it at a grimy corner store with a bunch of bookies in the back room and a bunch of old men taking up every stool at the counter,” he said.  “There’s a tradition here that needs to be respected.”</p><p>Tony chuckled, and leaned over to retrieve a bottle for himself.  Steve jerked his gaze back to the bottle before he ended up staring at Tony’s ass.  “Could you be more of a Brooklyn hipster?” Tony asked, his voice muffled by the interior of the fridge.</p><p>“The New York Post says I can’t,” Steve said, his thumb smoothing over the cold glass of the bottle.</p><p>“Please stop reading the Post,” Tony said, popping the top off of his bottle with a church key.  He held it out to Steve.  “Need to-”</p><p>Steve set his thumb on the edge of the cap and flicked it free, and the soda immediately gushed from the neck, white foam splashing over his knuckles.  Cursing, Steve dropped his mouth to the neck of the bottle, trying to catch as much as he could before it ended up on his sketchbook.  Bubbles went up his nose, and he coughed, soda overflowing his lips.</p><p>Laughing, he pulled back, wiping soda off of his lips and chin with the back of his hand.  The foam was still pouring out of the neck of the bottle and he licked at the glass.</p><p>A clatter brought his head up, and he watched the church key bounce across the workbench, Tony’s hand still hanging in midair.  There was a strange, strained look on his face, and Steve gave him an apologetic smile.  “Sorry,” he said, and his voice sounded raw.  “Dignified, huh?”</p><p>Tony set his bottle of soda down on the workbench.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown that,” he said, his voice thin.</p><p>Steve laughed.  “I was the one who opened it,” he said, wiping his thumb across his bottom lip. “It’s good, though.”</p><p>Tony’s eyes closed.  “Yeah.  I was thinking of ordering more, now I don’t know if I can.”  </p><p>Steve took a cautious sip.  “Why not?  It’s great.”</p><p>“Right,” Tony said.  He took a deep breath.  “Tell you what.  You.  Me.  Egg cream. There’s gotta be a sketchy ice cream counter left in this city.”</p><p>Steve grinned at him.  “We have the stuff in the kitchen.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re becoming a weird shut in at this point.  Let’s get you out from time to time.” Tony turned back to his holographic designs.  “Lunch tomorrow?”</p><p>Steve reached for his sketchbook.  “I have a…”  He shook his head.  “Let’s just say I have a…  Previous engagement tomorrow.”  He looked up at Tony.  “Raincheck?”</p><p>Tony nodded.  “Any time, Cap.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>*“I swear to god, if you hire a caterer that advertises ‘Friday Fiestas!’ I am going to have to call this friendship into serious question.”</p><p>Jan frowned down at the menu.  “I don’t-”</p><p>Jess stood up, taking it out of her hand with a flick of her fingers.  “No,” she said her voice stern.  She’d folded her copy of the catering menu into a hat, and now it perched on top of her dark, wavy hair.  She made it work some how.</p><p>Jan made a grab for her menu before it could be added to Jess’ wardrobe.  “I need to-”</p><p>“No,” everyone else said, a Greek chorus of disapproval, and Jan threw her hands in the air.</p><p>“I don’t think any of you know how hard it is to get a caterer this close to the holidays,” she said, her hands on her hips.  Her head tipped to the side, her neat bob bouncing against the line of her chin.  “We don’t have that many choices.  I’m just lucky that I have a certain social capital here.”</p><p>“And the fact that catering for us is something they can put on their website isn’t a bad deal, either,” Greer said, her voice silken, and Jan’s nose wrinkled.</p><p>“I mean, yes, but also we come with more super villains than the average Kardashian party,” she said, her voice wry.  “So there’s good points and bad points, honestly.”  She reached for her three ring binder, flipping through the pages.  She was wearing earrings shaped like strings of Christmas lights.  They glittered every time she moved, catching the light with each turn of her head.  “But if Bunnie doesn't-”</p><p>“Your preferred caterer is named Bunnie,” Carol said, her voice flat.</p><p>“She’s very good,” Jan said.</p><p>“Bunnie,” Carol repeated.</p><p>“Do we have a problem with that?” Jan asked her, eyebrows arching.</p><p>Carol tapped a finger against her lips.  Her short, spiky blonde hair was tipped with green and red, a festive touch of color despite her black turtleneck and running pants.  “Were you sorority sisters or were your mothers just tennis partners?”</p><p>“Okay, so she went to boarding school with me, but that doesn’t change the fact that she’s good at her job,” Jan said, her voice arch.  </p><p>Greer shoved the catering menus aside.  “Can we just get takeout?” she asked.  One bare foot was braced on the seat of her chair, her arm braced on her upthrust knee.  Today she had paired her shorts with an oversized, fuzzy green sweater, and occasionally, she would scrunch up into the rolled fabric of the high neck, until only her eyes were visible over the edge.</p><p>“No, we can’t get takeout,” Jan said, sounding pained, and Steve straightened up in his seat.</p><p>“Why not?” he asked.  Jan gave him a look, and dropped his copies of the caterers’ menus onto the table.  “No.  Seriously.  Why not?</p><p>“We’re not doing a sit down dinner, Jan, we’re not even doing a casual meal.” He shook his head.  “We’re doing a glorified cocktail party.  The food’s going to be a little bit more substantial than that, but most of what we’re looking at here is finger food, it’s appetizers, right?”</p><p>Jan’s eyes narrowed.  “Right…”</p><p>“So if you hire a caterer, they’re not going to be in the kitchen cooking these things to order.  I don’t care what they’re telling you, they’re not.”  He tapped a finger on the menus.  “If your menu is the size of a phone book, you’re getting 90% of it from a freezer, and I don’t object to that, but I also don’t see the point.  Why are we hiring a caterer to reheat frozen empanadas when we know a place that makes them fresh and already has proven willing to deliver to us?”</p><p>“Because I don’t want to deal with putting everything out,” Jan said.</p><p>“So why not just hire waitstaff?” Greer asked.  Jan looked at her, and Greer rocked in her chair, her green eyes flashing.  “It’s New York.  There have to be temp companies that provide waitstaff, right?”  She sorted through the menus, tossing a few aside.  Steve picked one off the pile, flipping through it.  “Hire people to keep the tables full and to walk around with trays.”</p><p>“Right, right,” Carol said.  “Decide what we want and set up a delivery schedule.  Have restaurants deliver every thirty minutes or every hour.  That way, something fresh is always going out, and our budget goes to the local places that we already know we like.”</p><p>“Do you know how much of a logistical nightmare that would be?” Jan asked.</p><p>Jess folded her arms on the edge of the table.  Her menu hat was tipped at a rakish angle.  “I don’t,” she said with a grin.  “But I know someone who absolutely thrives on logistical nightmares.”</p><p>Jan scowled at her.  “I know what you’re doing.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not subtle,” Jess agreed.  “And it’s still going to work.”</p><p>Jan’s cheeks puffed out.  “It’s not going to work.”</p><p>Jess folded her hands in front of her, her expression very serious.  “I’ll buy you a tiara.”</p><p>Jan’s whole face twitched.  “It’s not going to work, and also?  I already own a tiara.”</p><p>“You can always use additional tiaras,” Greer said, her voice muffled by the fabric of her sweater, and next to her, Natasha nodded.</p><p>“This isn’t working,” Jan said.</p><p>“It’s working,” Jess said to Carol.</p><p>“More like it’s already worked,” Carol said, standing up.  “I’m getting the real menu file, the one with Golden House and Sal’s Real New York Pizzeria in it.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare, I’m hiring a caterer,” Jan said.  She looked at Natasha.  “Are you going to help me out here?”</p><p>Natasha didn’t look up from her phone.  “I choose my alliances based on who’s offering me the better samosas,” she said, her voice bored.</p><p>“I’d like to point out-” Jan started, and Carol slapped the team’s takeout menu file down on the table. </p><p>“Vaisakhi NYC or bust,” Carol said. “Extra spicy.”</p><p>Natasha arched an eyebrow.  “I’m going to have to cast my vote with the Council of Lesbians,” she said.</p><p>“The Council of Lesbians,” Jan said, her voice flat.  Natasha nodded.  “So.  Carol.”</p><p>“And Steve,” Carol said.  She leaned over Natasha’s shoulder, fumbling for a pen.  “It’s the Council of Lesbians and Steve, and the Council of Lesbians happily accepts non-lesbians.”  Jan nodded.  Carol nodded back. “And Steve, obviously.”</p><p>Jan looked at Steve, and Steve shrugged.  “I’m not a lesbian,” he said.  It sounded apologetic to his ears.</p><p>Jan rubbed a hand over her face.  “Yes.  Yes, Steve.  I try not to stereotype, but the idea that you were a lesbian never, ever crossed my mind.”</p><p>Steve shrugged again.  “I know you have questions,” he said, “And I know I have no answers for you.”</p><p>Jess raised her hand.  “I have answers.  And like, the best tamale lady in the city on speed dial.”</p><p>Jan dropped into her chair, her head falling back.  “I’m not listening to you anymore,” she said.  “So you’re suggesting that we just order…  Random amounts of takeout and hire people to plate it for us?” </p><p>“Yes.  That’s what we’re suggesting,” Greer said.  She’d tucked both her knees under the hem of her sweater, and now sat as a warm looking green yarn-covered lump.</p><p>Jan’s head came up.  “And what happens when we massively over order and end up with piles of food no one wants?”</p><p>Clint wandered into the kitchen, wearing a pair of sweatpants, a button-down dress shirt, and one sock.  Carol leaned back in her chair, her head tipping in his direction.  “Hey, Clint?”</p><p>He raised a hand in a vague wave before throwing the fridge door open and leaning into it.  “Hey, Carol?”</p><p>“Just a hypothetical question here,” she said, rocking her chair back on its rear legs.  “Say there was a tray of like, egg rolls in there.  What would you do?”</p><p>Clint straightened up.  He looked at her.  He looked back in the fridge.  “There’s no-”</p><p>“Hypothetical, Clint,” Natasha said, smiling down at her phone.</p><p>“So.  Lies.”  He heaved a sigh.  “Is there a name on this imaginary tray?  Like, am I going to get punched for helping myself?”</p><p>Greer grinned.  “No.”</p><p>“Then I call dibs.  They’re mine now.”  Clint grabbed a gallon of milk, a pack of string cheese, a salami, and a bag of baby carrots.  “In fact, I’m calling dibs now.  In case this becomes less hypothetical in the near future.  If I open this fridge, and there’s egg rolls-”  He met their eyes, one after another, and tucked a carrot between his teeth like a cigarette.  “Dibs.”</p><p>“There are no egg rolls, Clint,” Jan said.</p><p>“DIBS,” Clint said, kicking the fridge door and walking out of the kitchen.</p><p>In the silence that followed his departure,” Carol folded her arms on the table, leaning into them.  “This place is the human equivalent of a swarm of locusts,” she said. “There are no leftovers, Jan.  You could have a delivery scheduled every ten minutes for five hour straight and it just means Thor and Luke Cage don’t have to spend all night going ‘anyone want this last one?’”</p><p>“Also me,” Steve admitted.  He gave Jan a wry smile. “A lot of that is me.”</p><p>Jess raised her hand.  “Idea.”</p><p>“No,” Jan told her.</p><p>“Eating contest,” Jess said.</p><p>“NO,” Jan told her.</p><p>“Festive eating contest?” Jess tried, and Greer was laughing into her folded arm and Carol was just grinning as she dug through the menu files.</p><p>“I’m not talking to you anymore, why are you even here?” Jan asked her.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know.” Jess dug through the mess on the table in front of her, coming up with the original catering suggestions.  “To keep you from ordering overpriced, under-spiced taco platters from a caterer named Bunnie?” She looked from the pages to Jan and back.  “I’m not letting you live this down.  I’m going to publicly shame you about this.”</p><p>“Right, moving on,” Jan said.</p><p>“Shaaaaaaaaaaame,” Jess said, holding the pages over her head.  “SHAAAAAME.”</p><p>Natasha took them from her.  “For the last time, Jess, save it for when you need leverage.” </p><p>“She’ll have forgotten about it by that,” Carol said, reaching for a notepad.  </p><p>“I don’t have the attention span for blackmail,” Jess said, peering over Carol’s shoulder.  “Can we get churros?”</p><p>“Steve is handling desserts,” Jan said.</p><p>Jess looked at Steve, a hopeful look on her face.  He smiled at her.  “I think we can get churros,” he said.  </p><p>“Bitchin’,” Jess said.  She paused.  “What am I handling?”</p><p>“The flowers, darling,” Carol said, her voice amused, as Jan let her head fall into her folded arms.  </p><p>“Right, right, flowers,” Jess said, looking at Greer.  “You should get Sam flowers!”</p><p>Greer blinked.  She wiggled free of the neck of her sweater.  “D’ you think so?” she asked, reaching up to twist her hair into a loose knot on the top of her head.  She picked up a pencil, twisting it through the locks.  “I’ve never bought a man flowers before.”</p><p>“Everyone likes flowers,” Jess said, with a shrug. </p><p>“Sam’s not allergic,” Natasha said, and Steve was glad she knew that, because he wasn’t sure he did.</p><p>“Wait.” Jan’s head popped up.  “Sam?” A bright smile broke over her face.  “Why are we getting Sam flowers?”</p><p>“We’re not getting Sam flowers, Greer is getting Sam flowers,” Carol said.</p><p>“I might be getting Sam flowers,” Greer said, stressing the word 'might.'  "It's a working suggestion.  That's all."  </p><p>Jan immediately moved her chair towards Greer’s side of the table, the legs scraping cheerfully across the tile floor.  “And why would we be getting Sam flowers?” she asked, her voice a bright trill.</p><p>Greer gave her a look out of the corner of her eyes.  “Because I want to get laid,” she said, her teeth flashing.</p><p>Jan was undeterred.  “Do we liiiiiiiiike him?” she asked, weaving her fingers together under her chin..</p><p>Greer pinched the bridge of her nose.  “I like his ass,” she said.  “Can I get a flower arrangement that says ‘I like your ass?’”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure that I can find a florist who can manage that,” Carol said with a wicked grin.</p><p>“Maybe the flowers shouldn’t be explicitly-” Steve cleared his throat.  “Ass centric?”</p><p>The door to the kitchen swung on its hinges, but didn’t open.  Everyone froze.  “Uh.”  The door twitched open again and Bruce peered around the edge.  “I…” He held up a coffee cup, waving it into the kitchen like the white flag that it was.  “Just need tea?”</p><p>“Cool, has anyone ever given you flowers?” Jess asked, pushing her menu hat back on her forehead so it sat at a rakish angle.</p><p>Bruce’s eyes darted around the room.  “I…  I don’t think so?” he said at last.</p><p>“Would you want to get flowers?” she asked, as Greer buried her face in her hands.</p><p>Bruce looked at Steve, who shrugged, helpless.  Bruce took a deep breath.  “Yes,” he said, with unexpected firmness.  “I would.”  He strode into the kitchen, his shoulders squared.  “Or, you know, a plant?  Plants…” He blinked rapidly behind the lenses of his glasses.  “A plant would be nice.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Jan said, her fingers steepled in front of her face, her eyes narrowed.  “I should get Hank a plant.  You know.  To make the lab a little cheerier.”</p><p>Bruce’s mouth opened.  Closed.  “Well, I mean-”</p><p>“We’ll end up fighting it in a week if you do,” Carol said.  Jan gaped at her, and Natasha made a silent ‘one’ hashmark in the air.</p><p>“Oooooooookay,”  Jan started, and Bruce made a break for the pantry.  “First of all, we would not have to fight the plant, and second of all, if we did, the plant would win.”</p><p>“I am not losing to a plant,” Jess said.</p><p>“You would if it was Hank’s plant,” Jan told her.</p><p>“Let’s just assume that the plant would remain, you know, a plant,” Steve said.  “Instead of a giant, mutated…” He gave his head a brisk shake.  This was not something he wanted to consider.  “Thing.”</p><p>“I’m going to get you flowers,” Greer called towards the pantry.  “What’s your favorite?”</p><p>Bruce peeked out.  “Orchids,” he said, with a slight smile.  “But you don’t need to-”</p><p>“Orchids can be ‘ass-focused,’ right?” Jess mused.  “They look kinda like asses.”</p><p>Bruce nodded.  “I’m going to go-” He held up a tea bag.  “Make this on a bunsen burner.”</p><p>“That…  Doesn’t sound safe,” Greer said.</p><p>“It’s safer than staying here,” Bruce said, and Steve grinned down at the tapas menu in his hands.</p><p>“Okay, what do we want for this thing?  Egg rolls, spring rolls, scallion pancakes, those chicken or beef teriyaki things, you know, on the sticks?” Jess said, circling things with abandon.  “What else?”</p><p>“Crab rangoon,” Steve said, taking another stack of menus.  “Lots of crab rangoon.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Where is he?”</p><p>Carol looked up.  “He’s fine,” she said, heaving a massive chunk of concrete onto her shoulder.  </p><p>Steve bit back a very rude response.  “I know he’s fine,” he said, his voice carefully modulated. “Where is he?”</p><p>Clint ducked past Carol, dragging a fishing net behind him.  “He’s in the quinjet,” he said, readjusting his grip on the ropes.  “Bruce was worried about hypothermia.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Nice to know he showed sense for once.”</p><p>Carol made a rude noise under her breath as she tossed what used to be a very expensive piece of beachfront real estate off of the dock.  “Nice to know that Thor managed to physically wrestle him into the quinjet, you mean.” she said, dusting off her hands.</p><p>“And pretty sure that Bruce is sitting on him to keep him there,” Clint added.</p><p>Some tension that Steve hadn’t even been aware of bled out of his shoulders.  He took a deep breath, and let it out.  “He’s fine,” he said.</p><p>“He’s fine,” Carol agreed with a grin.  “The armor took a beating, and so did his pride, but-”</p><p>“But that’s the armor’s job,” Steve said.  The pride thing, he wasn’t touching.  “To take a beating, so he doesn’t have to.”  A pack of SHIELD agents were sweeping the shore just below them, and Steve shifted his weight, wanting to be moving already.  “We okay here?”</p><p>Clint flicked a salute in his direction, and Carol nodded.  “Bruce would probably appreciate it if you took over the Tony-sitting duty, honestly,” she said, running one hand over her head.  Her hair sprang right back into place.  </p><p>Steve felt his face heat, and he did his best to ignore that.  “If anything else surfaces-”</p><p>“Literally or figuratively?” Natasha asked, her head popping up over the edge of the dock.  She tossed a piece of a machine onto the dock.  Steve was pretty sure it used to be a submarine.  Or at least a part of a submarine.  “Deal with that, will you?”</p><p>“No, no, I am not-” Clint started, but she’d already disappeared again.  “God dammit, Romanov.”</p><p>“I got it,” Carol said.  “Where are the evidence bags?”</p><p>With a quick nod, Steve left them to it.  He had a feeling they’d still be at it when he got back.</p><p>Halfway to the quinjet, he spotted Jan standing on the rear ramp, one of the armor’s arms slung over her shoulder. Greer was sitting nearby, a few other pieces spread out on the ground in front of her like a half-completed jigsaw puzzle.  Steve started to jog, then to run.  “Jan?” he called.</p><p>“He’s fine,” Jan said, hopping down to the ground.  “Mad as a we cat, but fine.”  She paused, her eyes darting towards Greer. “Uh, sorry?”</p><p>Greer grinned.  “Seems accurate to me,” she said, holding up a piece of the chestplate.  “He’s not hissing, but it’s a close thing.”  She leaned back on one hand, smiling up at Steve.  “Bruce is having a time of it, let me tell you.”</p><p>“I bet he is.”  Steve did his best not to look at the shattered remains of the armor.  He hated it.  He always hated it.  Hated seeing Tony’s work destroyed.  Hated thinking of Tony being in it when it was.</p><p>He sucked in a breath and tried not to think about that.</p><p>“I’d say leave him to pout in peace, but you are the big boss, so I guess it’s your job to talk him off the proverbial ledge,” Jan said, crouching down behind Greer.  “What’re we missing?”</p><p> </p><p>“At least one foot,” Greer said, and Steve didn’t want to think about that.</p><p>He ducked around them, climbing the ramp into the back of the quinjet.  The heat hit as soon as he cleared the door, and he pulled his cowl back.  “Tony?” </p><p>Bruce leaned around one of the bulkheads.  He looked exhausted.  “Back here,” he said, waving Steve over.  “He’s fine.”  He smiled.  “Cold.  But fine.”</p><p>Steve moved up next to him, and Bruce retreated to a nearby seat.  Tony, seated on a bench across the way, ignored them both.  A handful of pieces of the armor were scattered on the bench next to him, and his head was bent over the tablet in his hands.  His hair was damp, water beading on the dark strands, and his face was pale.  The undersuit still looked wet, and a towel was tossed on the floor nearby. It didn’t look like it had been used much.</p><p>Steve braced a hand on the roof of the quinjet.  “How’re we doing?” he asked, his voice quiet.</p><p>Tony didn’t look up from his tablet.  “I fucking hate Namor,” he said, the words pushed out from between clenched teeth.</p><p>Steve did his best to keep a straight face.  “Yeah, he’s…  He’s not high on my list right now, either.”  He glanced at Bruce, eyebrows raised in a silent question, and Bruce gave him a thumbs up.  He nodded, and turned his attention back to Tony.  “Are you-”</p><p>“I do not want to even think about how much time, money and effort it’s going to take to fix the armor,” Tony said.  He pushed his hair away from his face, and it flopped right back down over his forehead.  “Fucking Namor’s getting billed for every bit of it.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.”  Steve opened up one of the storage bins above the seats.  “I’m not sure you’re going to be able to collect on that.”</p><p>“It’s not actually collecting that’s important here,” Tony said.  “It’s the satisfaction I’ll get from printing out that invoice and then stapling it directly to his face.”</p><p>Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing.  “Right,” he said, trying his best to sound like he was taking this seriously.  He pulled a sweatshirt from the storage bin, giving it a quick shake before holding it out to Tony.  “Here.”</p><p>Tony barely glanced at it.  “I’m fine.”</p><p>Steve just stood there, the sweatshirt hanging from his hand.  “I know.  But this is warm and dry, so...”  He let his voice trail away.</p><p>“I’m covered in sea water and squid goo,” Tony said, scowling down at his work.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Yeah.  It’s a shame no one ever figure out a way to make dirty clothes clean again.” His head tipped to the side, his eyes narrowed.  “Maybe a machine of some sort.  That could just-” He made an ‘I don’t know’ sort of gesture with his free hand.  “Fix the problem of clothing that had become dirty.”</p><p>Tony stared at him, his mouth a flat line.  “Are..  Are you sassing me right now?”</p><p>Steve gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look.  “Man could make a fortune, if he figured out a machine like that,” he said, making his voice as earnest as he could manage.  Behind him, he could hear muffled laughter, and if he made the mistake of looking at Bruce, he would lose it.  “But it’s fine, you can just throw it away when you’re done-”</p><p>“Jesus, stop before you sprain something,” Tony said, snatching the sweatshirt from Steve’s hand.  Steve smiled at him, and Tony muttered something that sounded a lot like a curse. “You are a pain in my ass, Rogers, you know that, right?”</p><p>“The feeling’s mutual,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Are you going-” </p><p>Tony unfastened the neck of his undersuit, and whatever he had been trying to say turned to dust in Steve’s mouth.  “I know I have a reputation, but I can only strip so fast, Cap,” Tony said, and Steve knew those words were going to haunt him for a very long time.</p><p>“Uh-” he said, which was almost a word, it was as close as he could get to a word, because Tony was working the damp fabric away from his skin, cursing under his breath as he peeled the top of the suit away from his shoulders.  The muscles of his chest and shoulders flexed, and Steve turned away, desperate for something, anything else to look at.</p><p>Bruce looked up from his own tablet, his eyes darting to Tony, and then back to Steve.  “Thank you,” he mouthed, and Steve managed a smile for him.</p><p>“There.”</p><p>Steve risked a glance back at Tony, catching him in the act of zipping up the sweatshirt.  He left it open at the neck, the glow of the arc reactor visible beneath the fabric, the undersuit hanging down around his hips.  Tony gave Steve a wry smile.  “I forget how broad your shoulders are,” he said, stretching his arms out.  The sleeves slid over the tips of his fingers.  </p><p>“Me, too,” Steve said. Tony gave him a look and he shrugged.  “No.  Seriously.  I’m like one of those, you know, Great Danes who thinks he can still sit on someone’s lap.” Tony’s lips twitched, and Steve grinned.  “I’ll see a gap, and think, ‘go for it, you can fit in there, that’s totally something you can squeeze through’ and thirty seconds later, my chest is wedged between a shelf and a brick wall and my legs are just pinwheeling in midair-”</p><p>Tony choked on a laugh, a hand coming up to cover his face, and Steve nodded.  “It’s like that Three Stooges skit where they get stuck in a doorway?  And they’re all flailing desperately to get loose, to go forward or to go back, all the legs and arms waving in the air?” He paused.  “It’s like that.  Except.  It’s just me.”</p><p>Tony was laughing out loud now, his head tipped back, his face relaxed.  Steve braced an arm on the ceiling, smiling down at him, heat and need relaxing into something sweeter.  Something more comfortable and familiar.</p><p>After a moment, Tony sucked in a breath, one last giggle breaking free before he looked up at Steve, his eyes wet.  “Thanks, Cap.”</p><p>Before he could think better of it, Steve reached out, catching the hood and pulling it over Tony’s head.  Tony grinned at him from under the fabric, pushing it back with one finger.  Steve smiled back at him.  “Let’s find you some pants.”</p><p>*</p><p>“I ordered a triple batch of Crab Rangoon, how can there be none left ten minutes after the delivery gets here?”</p><p>Steve shook his head as he poured boiling water into the teapot.  “Because you live with a pack of jackals?” he offered.</p><p>On the other side of the kitchen island, Tony looked up from the pile of white paper takeout boxes.  “Yes, but usually they’re lazy,” he said, making Steve laugh. He upended another paper bag, prying open each box before pushing it aside.  “I swear, if I have to place a second order just to get-”</p><p>Steve put the lid on the teapot and moved it to the counter next to a stack of Chinese style teacups.  “Stop making a mess,” he said, his voice mild as he opened the oven door, pulling out the box of crab rangoon he’d hidden there.  Dangling the wire handle from one finger, he held it out to Tony with a smile.  “And maybe give your teammates the benefit of the doubt.”</p><p>Tony took the box from him with both hands, cradling it between his palms.  “I love you,” he said, and it hit Steve like a body blow, knocking the breath from his lungs.</p><p>He turned back to the tea.  “Nice to know it’s that easy,” he said, and he was proud of himself.  That sounded almost normal.  “What’re we watching tonight?”</p><p>“I think it’s A Christmas Carol,” Tony said, as Sam strode into the kitchen.  “Late as always, Wilson.”</p><p>Sam grinned at him.  “Unlike the rest of you moochers, I have a job,” he said, his voice full of laughter.  He grabbed a plate from the pile.  “And you’re lucky to get my company as often as you do.” He nodded at Steve.  “How’re you doing, Steve?”<br/>“Living the dream,” Steve said with a wry smile.</p><p>Sam laughed as he filled his plate.  “Man, do I hear that.  Oh, crab rangoon.”</p><p>“No,” Tony said, holding the box out of reach. “Not a chance.  I ordered half the damn menu, find something else.”</p><p>Sam grinned at him, even as he reached for a box of fried rice.  “There’s like eight of them in there, you can spare one,” he pointed out.</p><p>“No.  My dinner is going to be an entire box of crab rangoon and a spinach kale smoothie,” Tony said.  “That balances out to a complete meal. That is all I need right now, so-” Sam made a darting grab for the container, and Tony fended him off with a pair of chopsticks.  “I will stab you.  Do not think that I won’t, Wilson.”</p><p>“I’m willing to call that bluff just to see you try to stab someone with a chopstick,” Sam said.</p><p>“No,” Steve said.</p><p>“He can’t do it, Steve,” Sam said, dumping a healthy amount of mapo tofu onto his rice.  He waved the serving spoon in Tony’s direction.  “All talk, no action.”</p><p>“Ten bucks and a box of crab rangoon says I absolutely can,” Tony said, tossing a chopstick up and catching it in his fist, his thumb braced on the end.  </p><p>“No,” Steve repeated, taking the chopstick from him, and the other one, just for good measure.  “I’m not missing ‘A Christmas Carol’ because someone’s bleeding.”</p><p>“He says that like someone bleeding is unusual for movie night,” Sam said, picking up the teapot.  He filled a cup with a practiced gesture, the tea pooling neatly in the hollow of the cup.</p><p>Steve sighed, and tossed Tony’s chopsticks into the sink. “It’s Christmas, can we go one Christmas without someone getting stabbed?” </p><p>Sam grinned as he set the teapot aside and took a sip of tea, exhaling over the surface.  “God, you sound remarkably like my Grandmother.”</p><p>“Sounds like a woman of sense and wisdom,” Steve said, grabbing the stack of cups and piling them in the crook of his elbow.  With his other hand, he picked up his plate.  “Let’s go before someone switches the film over to Die Hard.”</p><p>“It’s a Christmas movie,” Sam said, balancing his cup of tea on his plate and picking up the pot.  “Egg Rolls?”</p><p>“Thor’s got a tray of them,” Steve said.  Halfway to the door, he stopped, and Sam almost walked into his back.  “Napkins?”</p><p>“Just give up and grab a roll of paper towels.  If the holidays are about anything, they’re about giving up and accepting your family can’t be trusted with your carpets,” Tony said.  He held out a hand.  “Give me the cups.”</p><p>Steve handed them over, and Tony headed for the lounge, Sam right behind him.  Even as the kitchen door shut behind them, Steve could still hear them bickering with each other, and he smiled to himself.  A minute later, a roll of paper towels tucked under one arm, he followed them to the lounge.</p><p>He stopped in the doorway, a little surprised to see that Sam and Tony had claimed one of the couches on the far side of the room.  It wasn’t like there was any sort of seating arrangement, but he almost always sat with Tony.  </p><p>And by ‘almost always,’ he meant…  Always.</p><p>Greer gave him a wave, gesturing at the couch next to her, and Steve headed in her direction.  She took the paper towels from him, tossing them to Bruce, who looked like his mu shu pancake hadn’t been up to his appetite.  “Here,” Greer said, clearing the seat next to her.  </p><p>“Thanks,” Steve said, sinking down between her and Natasha.  “I was wondering if there was a spot left.”</p><p>“I was saving it for Sam,” Greer said with an apologetic smile.  “But I don’t think he realized.”  She sighed, tucking her legs up on the couch next to her.  “I blame Tony.”</p><p>Steve managed a smile.  “He’s…  A distraction,” he agreed.  He settled back into the couch, trying not to take up too much space.  Natasha moved out of his way, and he gave her an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.”</p><p>She patted him on the knee.  “You’re just fine, Steve.”  Her head tipped back.  “We all here?”  A chorus of affirmative answers echoed around the room, and she waved a hand in the air.  “Roll it, Jarvis!”</p><p>The lights dimmed, and the TV flickered to life, music swelling.  Steve paused, his chopsticks halfway to his mouth  “Is this…  Is this the muppets version?” he asked, his voice quiet.</p><p>“Jess,” Greer said with a grin, and Steve nodded.</p><p>“Got it,” he said, and tried his best to watch the movie.</p><p>It was harder than it should’ve been.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could still see Tony and Sam, their heads bent together, whispering back and forth as the Muppets tormented Michael Cain.  Occasionally, he saw Tony’s head bob in a nod, or heard the soft sound of Sam’s laughter.  </p><p>His dinner went cold on his plate as he stared, unseeing, at the movie.  He wondered if Greer was as aware of Sam and Tony as he was, but she never seemed to even glance in their direction.  She seemed perfectly comfortable curled up against the arm of the sofa, her plate balanced on one knee.</p><p>But when Tony stood up, picking his way quietly to the door of the lounge, Steve stood up as well.</p><p>By the time he reached the kitchen, Tony had already collected a coffee cup from the cupboard.  He looked over his shoulder as Steve walked in.  “Hey, Cap,” he said with a smile.  “I’m going to fall asleep unless I get some coffee in me.”  He held up the cup.  “Want some?”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “No, I’m-  I’m all right.”</p><p>Tony nodded.  “Okay, did you not get enough to-”</p><p>“Were you flirting with Sam?” Steve didn’t know where the question came from, but it sure as hell sounded like his voice.</p><p>“Every damn chance I get.” Tony glanced up, meeting Steve’s eyes, and he went still.  “Oh,” he said, and the single word was soft, hanging in the air between them.  “That was…  That was a real question.”  He set his coffee cup down on the counter.  “Yes.  I suppose I was.”  He looked at Steve, his brows drawn up tight.  “Is…  Is that a problem?”</p><p>“No. I mean.”  Steve glanced away, his stomach aching.  “No.  I’m just-” He risked looking back at Tony.  “Are you-” He shifted his weight, and realized his arms were crossed over his chest.  He let them drop back to his sides.  “Are you interested?” He cleared his throat.  “In Sam?”</p><p>For a long moment, Tony was still, his face unreadable.  Then he smiled.  “He’s not interested,” he said, and there was something gentle about that.  “And even if he was-”  Tony shook his head.  “No.  I’m not.  He’s wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but-” He picked up his coffee cup, and turned to the pot.  “I dated my PA and ended up making her my CEO.”</p><p>Steve wasn’t really sure why they were talking about Pepper, but he nodded anyway.  “She’s good at it.”</p><p>“Far better than I was,” Tony said, pouring coffee into his cup.  “However, I know myself.  If I ended up dating a therapist, that-”  He paused, the coffee pot hanging in mid-air.  “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be fair to that person, as I really can’t be trusted not to take advantage of certain…  Skillsets.”</p><p>In the silence that followed, the sound of the pot being returned to the coffee maker was very loud.  “Why the sudden concern?”</p><p>Steve licked his lips.  “I-” There was no good answer to this, nothing that he could say that wouldn’t make it worse for Greer, and he’d made this mess himself; he had no one else to blame.  “Someone…  Someone likes Sam,” he said at last.  “And I just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t-” He gestured vaguely in Tony’s direction.  “Interested in-”  He stopped, frustrated.  “That you weren’t…”</p><p>His voice trailed away, and he risked a glance in Tony’s direction.  Tony was standing there, his face blank, his coffee cup held in front of his lips.  After a moment, he took a sip, the cup lingering against his mouth.  “Right.” He smiled at Steve.  “Someone.”</p><p>Steve stared at him.  “It’s not me,” he said.</p><p>Tony nodded.  “No, no, of course not.”</p><p>“It’s-” Steve pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, resisting the urge to swear.  “It isn’t me, Tony.”</p><p>“It’s all right, these things-” Tony started, as the kitchen door opened.</p><p>Sam leaned in.  “Hey,” he said, his eyes darting between them.  “Jess insisted on pausing it, and Thor and Clint are just punching each other in the shoulder now, so you guys okay, because-”</p><p>“I don’t want to date you,” Steve burst out.</p><p>Sam stopped, his eyes wide.  “Ooooookay,” he said, drawing the word out.  “Is there a reason-”</p><p>“I don’t want to date you, either,” Tony said, taking a sip of his coffee.</p><p>“Well, Merry Christmas to me,” Sam said.  “What the hell is happening here?”</p><p>“Nothing,” Steve and Tony said at the same time, and Tony pushed away from the counter.  </p><p>“Let’s go,” he said, with a slight smile. “Before the bleeding starts.”</p><p>“Tony-” Steve started, but Tony had already slipped past Sam and out the door.  Cursing under his breath, Steve grabbed his cup and made to follow him, but Sam didn’t move out of his way.  “I’m fine.”</p><p>Sam’s head tipped forward, and he looked up at Steve from under the line of his eyebrows.  “Right,” he said, his voice quiet.  “What just happened here?” he asked.</p><p>Steve couldn’t meet his eyes.  “Nothing,” he gritted out.  “I-”  He shoved a hand through his hair, frustrated beyond belief.  “I just made an ass of myself, so-” He thrust his hands out on either side of him, a sharp, hard gesture.  “Nothing new, Sam.”</p><p>Sam sucked in a breath.  “Okay, so if we don’t go back to the movie, things are just going to get worse, so we’re going back there, but we need to talk about this.”</p><p>“Nothing to talk about,” Steve said  He took a deliberate step forward.  Sam didn’t move. “Sam…”</p><p>Sam nodded.  “Right,” he said.  “Got your fortune for you, Steve.”  He stepped out of the way, and Steve slipped past him and out of the kitchen.  “‘Beware the fury of a patient man.’”</p><p>Steve paused.  And then kept going.  “Which Ghost are you, again?”</p><p>“Of Christmas Yet to Come.  We’ll talk tomorrow.”</p><p>Steve’s jaw locked.  Not if he had anything to say about it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Steve pulled his sneakers on, twisting his feet against the floor, testing them for comfort.  “Jarvis, can I get a weather report?”</p><p>“It is currently five thirty am on December 21st,” Jarvis said.  “The current temperature is 32 degrees F.”</p><p>Steve nodded. “Right,” he said, giving his shoelaces a quick tug.  “Maybe a long sleeve shirt, then.”</p><p>He could swear that he heard Jarvis sigh.  “Chance of precipitation in the next hour is 70%.  Might I suggest a jacket, sir?”</p><p>Steve grinned down at his feet.  “I think I can find a sweatshirt somewhere.”</p><p>“It would be appreciated, sir.”</p><p>“Yeah, well, don’t say I’ve never done anything for you,” Steve said, heading for the closet.  A moment later, he was heading for the door, shrugging the sweatshirt into place.  He pushed the front door open and came to screeching halt.</p><p>Sam was standing directly across the hall from Steve’s front door, his shoulders and one foot braced against the wall. “Huh, half an hour earlier than you usually start your morning run,” he said, his thumbs tapping against his phone.  He didn’t look up  “Your unpredictability is sadly predictable.”</p><p>“Needed a workout,” Steve said, his voice tight.  He yanked the hood of his sweatshirt over his head.  “Figured I could have a hard run and then come back and meet up with you.”</p><p>“Now, that’s possible,” Sam said, his head bobbing.  Steve yanked his door shut and started up the hallway, and Sam fell into step with him, head still tipped down towards his phone.  “Also possible that you were deliberately ditching me.”</p><p>Steve gritted his teeth against saying something that he really shouldn’t.  “I mean, I could still do that, if that’s what you think,” he said as they boarded the elevator.  “I can still outrun you.”</p><p>“Sure,” Sam said, giving his phone a quick toss in the air.  He caught it and slipped it into his pocket.  “You could.  But you’ve got to come back eventually.”  He flashed a bright grin in Steve’s direction.  “And I’m a very.  Patient.  Man.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve said.  He stared at the elevator door.</p><p>Sam stood next to him, also facing the elevator doors.  He leaned towards Steve.  “You’re thinking of how to ditch me right now, aren’t you?” he asked, sounding amused.</p><p>“I can’t imagine why I’d want to get away from you,” Steve said.</p><p>“Yeah, I’m a delight,” Sam agreed, and against his will, Steve smiled.  Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth.  “Seriously, though-”</p><p>“Seriously, I’m here, you’re here, I can run fast enough that you don’t have the breath to harass me, so let’s just…” Steve held up his hands.  “Let’s just do this, okay?”</p><p>“Sure,” Sam said, as the elevator opened into the lobby.  He gave the security guard a wave as they passed.  “How’s the weather this morning?”</p><p>“Another day in paradise,” the man said with a quick smile.  “Have a good run, fellas!”</p><p>Steve managed a nod, heading for the door at a quick clip.  The wind hit him as soon as he stepped outside, cutting through the fabric of his sweatshirt and shirt as if they weren’t there.  Behind him, Sam muttered a curse under his breath, and Steve smiled.  “You can still go back to bed.”</p><p>“Good try,” Sam said, as they headed across the street towards the nearby park.  At this hour, the jogging path was almost deserted, only a few stalwarts making the rounds.  </p><p>Steve paused, just off the path, rolling his shoulders.  “You’re not stretching?”</p><p>“Oh, I stretched while I was waiting for you,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his windbreaker.  “Had some time.  I actually expected you to be moving a little earlier, honestly.”</p><p>Steve gave him a look from under the line of his brows.  “You could’ve slept in.  I’m only up because I didn’t sleep well last night,” he said, and that sounded juvenile.  He found he didn’t much care.  He stretched one leg up behind him.  “Taking a run seemed like a better use of my time than glaring at the ceiling of my bedroom.”</p><p>“It does tend to give Jarvis a complex,” Sam agreed, squinting up at the sky. </p><p>“What’s your excuse?” Steve asked, bouncing on the ball of his foot.</p><p>“Well, I did set my alarm,” Sam said, the last word broken by a yawn.  “But my despite me setting my phone to ‘do not disturb,’ it kept going off with what it considered ‘emergency’ messages.”  </p><p>Steve switched legs.  “Emergency-”</p><p>“Yeah, the fact that Tony kept texting me til like two am, and my phone  seemed to think that might be an emergency,” Sam said, his head tipped back to stare up at the sky.  “I’m not sure if that was because the texts just kept coming, even though I didn’t acknowledge any of them, or if it was because he, you know, programmed my phone and so it thinks he’s special.”</p><p>Steve’s foot hit the ground with a thud. “Why was Tony texting you?” he asked.</p><p>“He was selling me on your good points,” Sam said.  His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.  “Which.  I know your good points.  But he seemed determined to highlight some of your more-” He held up his hands, index fingers and thumbs forming a box that he used to frame Steve’s face.  “Winning traits.”  He closed one eye and leaned back, as if setting up a camera angle.  “He’s pretty convincing, I’m seeing you in a whole new light.”</p><p>Steve stared at him.  “Why is Tony texting you?” he repeated.</p><p>Sam dropped his hands.  “I think he’s trying, in his own-”  He shook his head.  “Special way, to convince me to give you a chance.”</p><p>Steve stared at the sky, his jaw locked, his hands braced on his hips.  Sam patted him gently on the shoulder.  “You can swear,” he said, his voice sympathetic.  “This is a swearing situation, Steve.”</p><p>“This is a ‘punching situation,’” Steve gritted out, “and you’re the only thing in reach.”</p><p>“There’s a tree over there-” Sam started, and Steve gave him a look.  Sam’s lips twitched.  “Or not.”</p><p>“Why is he-” Steve started forward in a quick-paced jog, needing to do SOMETHING.  “I told him that I wasn’t interested in you.”  He stopped, his mouth going tight.  “Sorry, that’s-  That’s rude.”</p><p>“Nah, I’m not interested in you, either,” Sam said with a grin.  “If I was going to give it a try with a man, it’d probably be you, but-” He spread his arms wide.  “I just really like women.  I really, really like women.”</p><p>Despite everything, Steve had to struggle against a smile.  “I don’t do it for you?”</p><p>Sam reached over, patting him on the back without breaking his stride.  “Sorry, man.”  He looked at Steve out of the corner of his eyes.  “Having trouble convincing Tony of that, though.  You might want to do something about that.”</p><p>Steve shook his head.  “I told him I didn’t want to date you, then I told you I didn’t want to date you, in front of him.  What the hell else am I supposed to do?”</p><p>Sam nodded.  “I mean, and this is just a suggestion, but you could tell him you want to date him.”</p><p>Steve kept his head forward.  “What makes you think I’m interested in dating Tony?”</p><p>Sam sighed.  “Maybe because when it’s me, you flat out say you don’t want to date me.  And when it’s Tony, your response is to try to find out what gave you away.  Which seems, you know, kind of telling, Steve.”</p><p>“I don’t want to date Tony,” Steve said, and Sam just stopped running.  Steve kept going for a few steps, and then turned back.  Sam was just standing there, staring at him.  “What?”</p><p>Sam held his hands out at his sides.  “Really, man?”</p><p>Steve exhaled, his hands braced on his hips.  “What makes you think-”</p><p>“Okay, let’s just-” Sam crossed his arms over his chest.  “Remember when Jan decided we had to try that hot yoga fad?”</p><p>Steve pivoted on his heel and started jogging again.  Sam caught up to him in a matter of seconds, falling back into step next to him.  He stared up at Steve, his eyebrows arched.  “No,” Steve said, because it was clear that Sam wasn’t going to let this go.</p><p>“Huh,” Sam said.  “Right.  Well, okay, I can remind you.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do-”</p><p>Sam ignored him.  “Jan roped a bunch of our teammates into it, but you were late and I had a counseling session that I couldn’t just ditch,, so the session had already started by the time we got there, and instead of interrupting them, we just decided to shoot some hoops.”</p><p>“Sounds like us,” Steve said, picking up the pace.</p><p>“Yeah, and so we’re there, playing some pickup ball, and the class let out, and-” Sam let out a long, sharp whistle.  “Everyone was a sweatball.  Like, red faced, dripping, gross-”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t-” Steve started, because his face already felt hot.  Not that was unusual, it was cold and they were running, of course he’d start flushing.</p><p>“Yeah, and Tony was joking with, I think it was Carol?  And he was a mess, just like everyone else, and he pulled the hem of his t-shirt up to wipe his face, and-”</p><p>“I don’t remember this,” Steve said, trying to head off the inevitable.</p><p>“And you popped the basketball,” Sam said, and Steve’s eyes squeezed shut.</p><p>“Right,” he said, the words thin.  “Right.”</p><p>“Remember it now?” Sam asked, far too chipper for the early hour.</p><p>“I think that basketball was defective,” Steve told him.</p><p>“Steve, you were holding it in one hand,” Sam said.  “You popped a basketball with ONE HAND.  I don’t think I could pop a beach ball with one hand, and yet-”</p><p>“The instructor was very attractive,” Steve said, because that was safe, that was a person he’d never have to see or deal with again.  He rolled his shoulders.  “I just…  Wasn’t expecting that.”</p><p>“Uh-huh.” Sam jogged in silence for a few seconds.  “What color was her hair, Steve?”</p><p>“B-” Steve did his best not to draw the letter out, and failed miserably.  “Brown.”  That was a good guess, just by averages, that was the best guess he could manage.</p><p>“The instructor was a man,” Sam said, and Steve cursed under his breath.  Sam gave him a distinctly amused look.  “Look.  You’re my friend.  You know that, right?  That I’m you’re friend, and I’m going to support whatever decision you make here.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve said.</p><p>“That being said-” Sam cut in front of Steve and came to a sudden stop, making Steve backpedal to keep from crashing into him.  Sam rested a hand gently on Steve’s chest.  “I’m going to ask you a question right now, and I’d like you to really think about answering it honestly, at least to yourself.  I can’t make you tell me the truth, but for you-” He tapped Steve.  “In your head.  Answer this honestly.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Look, Sam-”</p><p>“Are you happy?” Sam asked, and Steve fell silent.  Sam smiled, his eyebrows arching.  “Steve.  Are you happy with how things are right now?”</p><p>“Things are…  Complicated, right now,” Steve admitted.</p><p>Sam nodded.  “That’s an honest answer,” he said, his hand dropping.  “And kind of a cop-out. Do we have a plan to uncomplicate things?”</p><p>Steve let his eyes shut.  Took a deep breath, and then another.  “I’m going to ask Tony out,” he said, and that was the first time he had acknowledged that plan out loud.  He waited, his chest tight, for a sense of doom, for world to punish him for that.  For wanting something he couldn’t have.</p><p>Instead, Sam tossed his head back and let out a whoop loud enough to send the pigeons scattering from the ground around them.  Steve let out a chuckle, relief sweeping over him.  “That was dignified,” he said, his lips twitching up.</p><p>“Thank FUCK,” Sam said, grabbing Steve by the shoulders.  </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Steve said, taking hold of Sam’s wrists.  He was grinning, somehow. “It may not change anything, Sam.”</p><p>“Maybe not,” Sam said.  He straightened up.  “But it’ll result in me getting significantly fewer texts from Tony, trying to sell me on you.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’m up for sale,” Steve said.</p><p>“No, but he’s a natural salesman, when he believes in the product,” Sam said.  He started moving forward again, and this time, it was up to Steve to catch up.  Sam gave him a look over his shoulder.  “He seems to think you’re boyfriend material.”</p><p>“For you, maybe,” Steve said, “doesn’t mean he’s interested.”</p><p>Sam gave him a flat look.  “He’s interested.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Will you-”</p><p>“Ask the man out, Rogers,” Sam said, picking up the pace.  He pumped a fist in the air.  “New year’s coming, let’s see what changes you can make in your life.”</p><p>“Do they have to be good changes?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Sam said, and Steve started laughing.</p><p>“I may be about to ruin one of the best things in my life,” Steve said, “for purely hormonal reasons.”</p><p>“There is nothing wrong with sexual attraction,” Sam said.  He looked over at Steve.  “We’re on the same page there, right?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said.  “And that-”  His fingers went to fists and he shook them out, trying to get rid of some of the tension in his arms.  “I started having, uh, dreams, about-”  He stopped.  “Dreams-”</p><p>“Of a sexual nature?” Sam filled in, and there was mockery or embarrassment to the words.  Steve was grateful for that.</p><p>Steve cleared his throat.  “Very.  Sexual.”</p><p>“A large part of the population experiences erotic or sexual dreams,” Sam said.  “Other people don’t.  We’re all wired a bit differently, Steve, but either way, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”</p><p>“Yeah, I just wasn’t…  Expecting them to be about Tony.”</p><p>Sam’s head bobbed in a nod as they came around the corner of the path.  “Pretty sure a large part of the population also has them about Tony,” he said, making Steve laugh.  Sam grinned.  “That’s just an estimate, of course, I don’t have any published papers or peer-tested research to cite here.”</p><p>“Yeah, how do you get funding for a serious psychological study of ‘have you had sex dreams about Tony Stark?’”</p><p>“I’m pretty sure Tony would fund it,” Sam asked, and Steve had to slow down, he was laughing so hard  Sam grinned at him.  “Put in a good word for me?”</p><p>“No,” Steve said, laughter stuttering off into a chuckle.  “I can barely put in a good word for myself.”  He looked at Sam.  “But I brought that up, because I was…  I was okay with that.  You know?  Nothing I can do about my dreams, about my subconscious.  And I could keep that to myself, I could handle that.</p><p>Sam waited patiently, and Steve exhaled, his breath curling in heavy clouds around his face.  “I realized in trouble when I realized I was fantasizing about…”  He picked up the pace, leaving Sam behind for a few steps.  “Normal life.</p><p>“I’d be in a SHIELD meeting, bored out of my skull, and I should be paying attention, I know I should be paying attention,” Steve said, the words coming faster and faster.  “And instead of processing what Maria’s saying, I’m wondering if Tony’s at the office today.  If he has plans for lunch.  Maybe I could text him.  If he’s in the office, we could meet downtown.  If he’s at the tower, I could bring something back with me.  </p><p>“I’m thinking about if he’s still pissed about that article in the Financial Times.  Wondering if he’s fixed that bug in the knee joint of the newest armor.”  Steve stared at the horizon, the morning air cold on his throat, on his lips.  “I want to text him and tell him I hate this meeting, because he’ll have a response that’ll make me laugh.  I want to check the team calendar, to see if Jarvis has added anything for him that we know about, and I also find myself resenting that I have to learn about his trips and his absences from the team calendar and Jarvis, anyway.</p><p>“I could’ve handled the sexual stuff.  I’m…  Used to that.  This is something…  Else.”</p><p>He glanced over and he was alone, he was alone because he was running full out, as fast as his legs could carry him.  He skidded to a stop, his sneakers scraping against the frozen pavement as he did a heel turn, looking back to find Sam running after him.  He stood there, heart pounding in his chest, waiting for Sam to catch up.  “Sorry.”</p><p>Sam huffed out a breath as he came up next to Steve and kept running.  Steve fell in with him.  “I’ve seen people run from their feelings,” Sam said, his voice tinged with amusement.  “But you always did take things pretty literally, Rogers.”</p><p>“No matter how fast I go, can’t seem to get away, or catch up,” Steve said.  He glanced at Sam.  “Stuck.  Somewhere in the middle, I guess.”</p><p>“You’re moving forward, and that’s something to be celebrated.”</p><p>Steve gave him a look.  “Are…  Are you humoring me right now?”</p><p>Sam grinned.  “I’m being supportive.  As your most ‘I got my shit together’ friend.”</p><p>Steve went back to staring at the path.  “I cannot wait for you to get your comeuppance, you know that?”</p><p>Sam slapped him on the back and immediately poured on the speed.  “Never going to happen.”</p><p>Steve ran after him.  “I cannot wait.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Well?”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it,” Greer said, pulling one leg up and bracing her foot on the edge of the kitchen chair.  She dropped her chin onto her knee with a sigh.  Jess held out the plate of tarts to her, and Greer glared at them.  “Is that supposed to help?”</p><p>Jess looked down at the plate, and then back at Greer.  “I mean, it can’t hurt, can it?” she asked with a hopeful smile.  She gave the desserts a little wiggle.  “Chocolate makes everything better.”</p><p>Greer blew a curl away from her eyes, glaring at Jess. “You-” Her nose wrinkled.  “You’re humoring me.”</p><p>“Yeah, kinda nice, isn’t it?” Carol asked, the words muffled by the fork tucked between her teeth.</p><p>“No,” Steve and Greer said at the same time.  She held up a hand, and Steve gave her a high five.</p><p>“I’m counting on you,” Steve said to Greer with a slight smile,  There was whipped cream on his wrist.  He fumbled for a napkin.</p><p>“That’s probably a mistake,” Greer admitted.  She took the plate from Jess and balanced it on her knee.</p><p>“We tease because we love,” Carol said.  “And cause it’s funny. She flipped through the pages in front of her.  “Where is this one from?”</p><p>Steve looked over the top of his laptop.  “Uh, Cafe Collette, I think,” he said, reaching for the invoices.  “Is it lemon?”</p><p>Carol licked the tines of the fork, her eyes canting up towards the ceiling as she considered that.  “Maybe?”</p><p>Jan leaned over her shoulder, stabbing at the remains of the cupcake with her fork.  Ignoring Carol’s attempts at fending her off, she tucked it in her mouth.  “It’s Key Lime.”</p><p>Steve looked from one invoice to another.  “It’s…  I don’t see that on any of these,” he admitted, reaching for another from the stack.  “Or maybe Praline Patisserie.”  He looked up at them.  “Is it good?”</p><p>“No,” Jan said, at the same time Carol said, “Yes.”  They looked at each other. </p><p>“Fight, fight,” Greer said, around a mouthful of strawberry shortcake.  She picked up a petit four, her long, honed nails digging delicately into the cake as she held it up at eye level.</p><p>“We’ll put that one in the ‘maybe’ column,” Steve said, as if he had any idea what bakery he was putting in that category.  Of course, right now, everything was in the ‘maybe’ column, so he didn’t suppose it really mattered.  He looked Greer.  “Do you want me to-” She held up a hand in his direction.  Steve tried not to smile.  “Guess that’s a no.”</p><p>Greer shoved an entire turnover in her mouth. “No,” she mumbled around the pastry.</p><p>“Want me to-” Carol started.</p><p>“No,” everyone said at the same time, and Carol flipped them off with both hands without even putting down her fork.</p><p>“Fuck all y’all,” she said with a grin.</p><p>Jess considered her, her fingers tented in front of her mouth, her eyebrows arched.  “Darling.  You’re from Boston.”</p><p>“You have no way of proving that,” Carol pointed out, reaching for a plastic take out box.</p><p>Jan took a sip of her tea.  “Go, Yankees!” she said, her voice chipper.</p><p>“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,” Carol said, and Steve choked on a laugh.</p><p>“In her defense, that’s the general response of anyone not from New York who loves baseball,” Jess said.  Steve raised a hand.  “The Dodgers are in LA now, baby, you’re gonna have to give up on that.”</p><p>“The urge to just, you know, spit, is so hard to resist,” Steve said, just as Natasha entered the kitchen, shoving Tony along ahead of her.  Steve felt his face heat, and he ducked down behind his computer.</p><p>“No spitting on the floor,” Natasha said.  “Clint picks up bad habits so easily it’s not even funny.”</p><p>“Why are we spitting?” Tony asked, his fingers dancing over the surface of his tablet.</p><p>“The Yankees,” Carol said, leaning back in her chair.</p><p>“Ah, yes, sports rivalries,” Tony said.  “I do so enjoy those.”  He wandered back towards the kitchen door, and Jan stepped in front of him.  His eyes flicked up towards her.  “Ah.  You’re the one behind this most recent kidnapping attempt.”</p><p>“I did put it on your calendar,” Jan pointed out.</p><p>“Yes, I took it back off,” he said.</p><p>“And that’s why I hired a professional,” Jan said, gesturing towards Natasha, who took a seat on the edge of the table, accepting a cup of tea from Greer.  “We didn’t have to do this, you made it necessary.”</p><p>“If I’m going to be inconvenienced, I at least think you should have to pay for it,” Tony said, and Steve looked down at his keyboard to hide his smile.  </p><p>“Luckily, today my usual fee has been severely reduced,” Natasha said, looking over the plates and trays that littered the tabletop and cabinet, a covetous look flicking over her face.  “Chocolate croissant, please.”</p><p>“By the fridge,” Steve said, gesturing at the box.  </p><p>With a pleased sound, Nat rolled to her feet and crossed the room, snagging Tony by the back of the shirt when he attempted to inch his way to the door again.  “Do not make me get the restraints.”</p><p>“Kinky,” Tony said, his voice bright, and Steve choked on his coffee. </p><p>Greer reached for a napkin, wincing in sympathy.  “Here,” she said, handing it over.  </p><p>Steve gave another cough, moving away from the computer.  “Thanks,” he managed.  He stabbed at the keyboard with his free hand, looking for a particular webpage.  “Can we just go with Maison Villatte?” </p><p>“We haven’t tried all the samples yet,” Jan pointed out, sounding vaguely scandalized.</p><p>“Can you really tell the difference anymore?” Steve asked.  He waved at the containers scattered over every square inch of the kitchen.  “I’ve gone sugar numb.  Nothing tastes like anything.”</p><p>“Fine, you can tag in your replacement,” Jan said, waving at Tony.  “Despite his usual diet, he does actually have a very refined palette.”</p><p>“I’m working here,” Tony said, not looking up from his tablet.</p><p>“I don’t care,” Jan sing-songed.  “Try a macaron.”</p><p>Tony tipped his head in her general direction, his eyes still locked on the screen, his mouth open wide.  Jan braced a fingertip against her cheek.  “Really,” she said, her voice flat.  “We’re really doing this?”</p><p>“I mean, it’s not my choice, but you’re-” That was as far as he got before Jan fed him the cookie.  </p><p>“It’s like watching a mama bird feed her chick,” Greer said.</p><p>“Oddly, I’m okay with this,” Tony said.  His tongue flicked out, tracing the seam of his lips, and Steve shifted in his chair, heat curling in the pit of his stomach.  Tony’s nose wrinkled.  “Lacks the airy snap I’d expect.”</p><p>Jan considered the plate.  “Hmm.  True.”</p><p>“Here,” Natasha said, holding out a white paper box.  “A financier for our.. Financier.”</p><p>Tony gave the tiny loaves a suspicious look.  “Are they poisoned?”</p><p>She looked at them. “No, just subpar.”</p><p>“I’ll pass,” Tony said, sneaking a tiny eclair instead.  “I’ve already promised to pay for this disaster in the making, why am I here?”</p><p>“Because if you’re going to have opinions, I’d prefer you have them now, when I can punch you in the back of the head,” she said.  Tony stared at her.  Jan fluttered her eyelashes at him, a sweet smile hovering around her lips.  “Pavlova?”</p><p>“I’m…  Good, thanks,” Tony said.  He leaned against the table next to Steve, smiling down at him.  “What’s the verdict, Cap?”</p><p>Steve leaned back in his chair with a sigh.  “The verdict is this is the worst website that I’ve ever seen.”  Tony’s lips twitched, and Steve pointed at him.  “Don’t start with me.  I know what I’m doing, Mr. Futurist.”</p><p>“I know.” Tony tossed his tablet aside and pushed himself upright.  “Want me to lower myself to manually typing things on your behalf?”</p><p>“I’d say no, but when you put it that way, it’s pretty tempting,” Steve said, shifting his chair away from the table, intending to get up so Tony could take his seat.  Before he could, Tony was behind him, leaning over his shoulder, and Steve froze.  </p><p>“Ooooooof,” Tony said on a long, pained exhale, and Steve could feel the heat of his breath against his neck.  “Okay.  Wow.”  He reached past Steve, fingers brushing against the touchpad, and he was so close that Steve could smell his cologne, a subtle, pleasant scent made Steve’s mouth go dry.  He shifted in his seat, feeling awkwardly out of place in his own body.  He didn’t know where to put his hands, or how to breathe without it sounding desperate.</p><p>Tony didn’t seem to notice.  He just leaned in, his chest brushing against Steve’s shoulder.  “This UI is horrible,” he said, scowling at the screen.  “What is this, did they hire a web designer who’s been in a come since 1993?  Was this put together by the owner’s second cousin for a high school class?”</p><p>“It’s a highly reputable bakery,” Jan said, taking a delicate bite from a cream puff.  She made a pleased sound, and peeled off a bit of the choux pastry, holding it out to Tony, who popped it in his mouth..</p><p>“It’s a highly horrible website,” Tony shot back, vanilla and chocolate mixing with the smell of his skin.  With one hand, he hit a few keys.  “Okay, I think they’re asking how many guests?”</p><p>Jan leaned in on Steve’s other side, her hand braced on his shoulder.  “No, it’s asking for the number of pastry types.”  She frowned.  “Isn’t it?  The boxes-”</p><p>“Don’t line up,” Tony agreed.  He gestured at the screen and if Steve turned his head just the smallest amount, he’d be able to kiss Tony’s neck, and that way lay madness.  He stared straight ahead, hands braced on his thighs, shoulders a hard line.</p><p>“So where do you put your budget?” Jan asked.  “Down here?”</p><p>“That’s the address line, isn’t it?  Let me-” Tony reached for the tab key, and his wrist bumped Steve’s chest, making him twitch.  Tony pulled his hand away, and for the first time, their eyes met.  In the warm light of the kitchen, Tony’s eyes were golden brown, brilliant and intoxicating.  For an instant, they just stared at each other, and then Tony smiled.  “Sorry,” he said, pulling back. “We’ve got you trapped, don’t we?”</p><p>“It’s okay,” Steve said, and his voice didn’t sound right to his ears.  “I-”</p><p>The door to the kitchen swung open, and Pepper leaned in.  “Here you are,” she said, her voice sharp. </p><p>“Here I am,” Tony agreed, spreading his arms wide.  He gave her a wicked smile.  “Surrounded by temptation.”</p><p>Steve resisted the urge to put his head between his knees.  Or just cry.</p><p>“Do not try to distract me,” Pepper said, as Natasha held up the coffee pot.  “Yes, please.”</p><p>“If you drink it black, I’m sure you can have some small treat,” Jan said, smiling at her over the rim of her own cup.</p><p>“You are full of terrible lies, I know you are, but yes, please tell me you have something with a lemon curd,” Pepper said, and Jess held out a plate to her, filled with tiny tarts.</p><p>“They’re small,” she said with a bright grin, “have two.”</p><p>“Vile temptress,” Pepper said, lowering herself into a chair and crossing her legs neatly in front of her.  She took the cup from Natasha.  “Stark.  We have a meeting in ten minutes.”</p><p>“I was abducted,” Tony said, and Pepper pointed at the door.</p><p>“That didn’t work the last two times you tried to use it as an excuse, and it’s certainly not going to work now, so can we-”</p><p>“I’m going, I’m going,” Tony said, laughing.  He headed for the door, pausing just long enough to look back at Steve.  “We’ll figure it out.”</p><p>“I’ve-”  Steve smiled at him.  “I’ll figure it out.”</p><p>Tony nodded.  “I know you will.” </p><p>“Tick.  Tock.” Pepper said, staring at her coffee with a gimlet glare.</p><p>“Going!” Tony said, and just like that, he was gone, and Steve missed him already.</p><p>“Are we going to get him back in time for the actual party?” Jan asked Pepper.  She didn’t sound overly concerned about the answer.  </p><p>“That depends entirely on his behavior with the board tonight,” Pepper said, leaning an elbow on the table.  “I’ll be there, either way, and honestly?”  She picked up a fragment of chocolate off of the edge of a plate, popping it in her mouth.  For an instant, her face went blank, her eyes squeezing shut.   When she exhaled, it was long and soft, her cheeks pink.  “I can put his signature on any bills that need to be paid.  I don’t think even he could tell the difference at this point.  Hell, he’s probably glad to get out of the effort of picking up a pen.”</p><p>“Excellent,” Jan said, offering her a platter of pastries.  “Take one.  They’re small.”</p><p>Pepper took the whole platter.  “Right.  They are.”</p><p>*</p><p>“What…  Did I miss?”</p><p>Steve looked up from his laptop.  “Probably a lot,” he admitted with a slight smile.  “But if this is about the bakery leftovers-”</p><p>Bruce nodded, very slowly.  “It’s about the bakery leftovers,” he said, looking around the kitchen.  He was holding his coffee cup in front of him in both hands, looking vaguely out of place.</p><p>“Jan wanted a taste test before the party,” Steve said, picking his way through the website menu.  “It was moderately successful.”  He looked at his notes.  They weren’t much help.</p><p>“Right,” Bruce said, giving the boxes a wary look on his way to the fridge.  “How’d that go?”</p><p>“Jury’s out,” Steve said.  He paused.  “Actually, most of the jury is in a sugar coma.  Except Jess.  I think she’s built up an immunity.”  He leaned his chin on one hand.  “Feel free to help yourself.”</p><p>“Uh, I’m okay,” Bruce said, retrieving a bowl of leftover pasta from the fridge.  “A little too rich for me.”</p><p>“Do me a favor,” Steve said.  “Take a box with you.  Any box.  Because sooner or later, Clint’s going to realize there are unattended pastries down here, and that’s when we’ll be in for it.”  Steve frowned down at the lists of figures.  He was smarter than this.  He knew he was smarter than this.  “I have enough headaches.”</p><p>Bruce paused.  “Point taken,” he said.  He picked up a large box.  “Remember when Sitwell gave him a pack of 500 Pixie Sticks for his birthday?”</p><p>Steve stared at him.  “No.”</p><p>Bruce’s eyes went wide.  “Oh. Right.  We don’t tell you about that.”</p><p>“What do you mean ‘we don’t tell you about that?’” Steve asked.  “Don’t tell me about WHAT?”</p><p>“Uh,” Bruce said, and there was a thump from under the table.  Bruce stopped.  “What…  Was that?”</p><p>There was a second of pause, and then Greer emerged from under the table, her eyes squeezed into narrow slits.  She blinked at Bruce, then reached up and pushed her hair out of her face.  “Where am I?” she asked, her voice gritty.</p><p>“Kitchen,” Bruce said.</p><p>Greer nodded.  “Why am I in the kitchen?”</p><p>“You ate three boxes of custard tarts, told us you had done your part, pulled three chairs together, and went to sleep,” Steve said, smiling down at his computer.</p><p>Greer’s chin dipped in a slight, resigned sort of nod.  “Sounds like me.” She stretched with a yawn, her hair flopping back in front of her face.  “What time is it?”</p><p>Bruce went to look at his watch and nearly dropped both the bowl and the box.  For a moment, he just juggled them both, finally managing to wrap his arms around the box.  Steve was pretty sure whatever was inside, it didn’t survive.  “Nearly ten pm,” Bruce said.</p><p>Her lips pursed.  “I should…  Drink something,” she said, rocking to her feet.  “Steve?”</p><p>He waved her off.  “Thanks, but I’m good.” He grabbed his pencil, scribbling another few numbers on his notes.  They made about as much sense as the rest of of what he’d written there.  </p><p>The kitchen door opened and Jess leaned in.  “Hey, Greer’s up.”  She grinned at Bruce as she passed, Carol right behind her.  “Heya, Doc.”</p><p>“Hey,” he said with a smile.  He held up the bowl.  “I’m taking this, unless anyone else wants it?”</p><p>“I think it’s yours by right of eminent domain,” Carol said, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, stepping aside so he could leave the kitchen.  She looked back at Greer.  ”Greer, Clint needs help getting past the hard part in his zombie game.  You in?”</p><p>Greer’s nose wrinkled as she filled a cup with juice.  “You shot me last time.”</p><p>“And I’m probably going to shoot you this time,” Carol said.  She shrugged.  “I never said I was good.  I said I was enthusiastic.”</p><p>“Fine, but if I start hissing, you might want to move out of range,” Greer said, plopping back in her seat.  Jess leaned over her, brandishing a comb and a hopeful smile.  Greer gave her a look.  “Really?” Jess nodded, and Greer smiled at her.  “Fine.  Go ahead.”</p><p>Jess gave a happy squeak and started combing, her hands sliding over Greer’s hair.  Carol took a seat across from them.  “Where did you even pull that comb from??” she asked, arms folded on the table in front of her.  </p><p>“Listen, you keep cutting all your hair off, I’m only cheating on you because I’m desperate,” Jess said, smoothing Greer’s hair into soft curls.  She leaned over Greer’s shoulder, smiling at her.  “Can I do your hair before the Christmas party?”</p><p>“No,” Greer said, and Jess’ lower lip poked out.  Greer rolled her eyes.  “Fine.  I can use whatever help I can get.” </p><p>“We haven’t been much help,” Steve said.</p><p>“Excuse you, I’ve been a great help,” Carol said. </p><p>“You really haven’t,” Greer said with a grin.</p><p>“Okay, but I’m the only one here who asked someone out and got a date out of it in the last like, year, so-”</p><p>Jess stopped.  Set the comb down.  “Really,” she said, and there was a note to that one word that brought Steve’s head up.  Greer twisted in her chair, her eyes going wide.  “Really.  You got a date, did you?”</p><p>Carol’s mouth opened.  Closed.  Opened again.  “Okay, so I know what you’re-”</p><p>“Hey, guys!” Jess said, her voice obnoxiously cheery.  “Want to know how she asked me out?”</p><p>“No, they don’t,” Carol said.</p><p>“Well, now I do,” Steve said, meeting Carol’s eyes.  She was turning red, and he grinned.  “Are you…  Are you BLUSHING, Danvers?”</p><p>“No,” she said.</p><p>“Oh, she will be.” Jess crossed her arms over her chest, one hip popped out.  “So we were playing touch football with everyone, because we’re idiots, and it went about as well as can be expected, because no one in our circle of ‘friends’ has any measure of self-control, and the Ms. Suave and Sophisticated comes up to me, slaps me on the back and says-” She paused.  “And I quote, she says, ‘Good game, Drew.  If you weren’t straight, I’d ask you out.’”</p><p>“Wow,” Greer said.</p><p>“Right, out of context, that’s-” Carol started, and Jess kept going.</p><p>“And I say, ‘I’m not,’ and she goes, ‘Not what?’ and I said, ‘I’m not straight.  I’m bi.’”  She paused.  Carol had her face buried in her folded arms.  Jess reached over and patted her on the head. “And she said ‘Good for you,’ and then she left.”</p><p>Steve realized his mouth was hanging open.  “What?”</p><p>“She fled.  The field.  At a run,” Jess said.</p><p>“Oh my God,” Greer said.</p><p>“Okay, in my defense-” Carol said.</p><p>“There’s no defending that,” Greer told her.</p><p>“IN MY DEFENSE,” Carol repeated, “that line has never, ever worked.  It’s not-  It’s not supposed to work.” She braced her hands on the table.  “It’s a bad line.  It can’t work.”</p><p>“It worked,” Jess said, “and then you ran away.  You didn’t even fly.  You just-” She waved a hand through the air.  “It was a long way to the edge of the field, too, it was like 90 seconds of watching you flee from me.”</p><p>“Carol…” Steve said, and she leveled a look in his direction.</p><p>“Don’t you even start with me, I am not taking it from you,” she said.</p><p>“What did you do?” Greer asked Jess.</p><p>“Well, I walked over to the sidelines, and I got my phone out of my bag and I texted her, ‘I’m free on Tuesday,’ and I can see her, I can still see her, and she stops.  Pulls out her phone.  Looks at it.  Texts me back.” She nodded, her expression serious.  “And it was a single letter.  ‘K.’”</p><p>“You are expelled from the Council of Lesbians,” Greer told Carol.  “You are out.  Done.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Carol gaped at her.  “I am the FOUNDER of the Council of Lesbians!  I am the ONLY LESBIAN in the Council of Lesbians!”</p><p>“And Steve,” Jess added.</p><p>“Thank you,” Steve said, smiling down at his keyboard.</p><p>“You’re out,” Greer said.  She drained the last of her juice and stood.  “And if you shoot me, I’m going to shoot you back.”  She put her cup in the dishwasher.  “You useless, useless lesbian.”</p><p>“You know what?” Carol said.  “Fair.”  She stood up.  “C’mon, Nat and Thor are sharpening weapons in front of the fire, let’s go distract Clint before he gets stabbed.”</p><p>“Hey.”  Steve looked up.  “Bruce said something about Sitwell giving Clint Pixy Sticks for his birthday?”</p><p>“We don’t talk about that,” Jess said, the words coming very, very fast.</p><p>Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “Why-”</p><p>“Let’s go,” Carol said, wrapping an arm around Jess’ waist and picking her up.  She snagged Greer by the wrist and hustled them both towards the kitchen door.  Greer gave Steve a wave, and before he could wave back, they were gone.</p><p>“Right, now I’m worried,” he mumbled, looking back at his computer.  God, he hated menus and online ordering and he hated this website.  He really hated this website. “Do we really need mini fruit covered cheesecakes?”</p><p>“Yes.  My god, man, why would you even ask that question?”</p><p>Steve looked up just in time to see Tony throw open the kitchen door, looking back over his shoulder.  “Carol’s kidnapping about a fifth of the team, are we concerned about this?”</p><p>“I can’t speak for you, but I’m okay with it.”  Steve added a few numbers to the webform, then deleted them again.  “Really?  We need cheesecake?”</p><p>“I mean, I need cheesecake, and I thought you liked me, so…” Tony headed for the fridge.  “Have you been sitting there since I left?  Because that’s sad, Steve.  Speaking as someone who spent half the day trying not to punch my head of marketing, that’s sad.”</p><p>“I have not,” Steve said, smiling down at the screen.  “I went down to the gym for a few hours to…” He struck the enter key with a little too much force.  “Work off some aggression.”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Tony held a loaf of whole wheat bread at shoulder level.  “Am I replacing the punching bag again?”</p><p>Steve gave him a wry smile.  “French bakeries frustrate me.”</p><p>“A diplomatic answer,” Tony said, going back into the fridge.  “Did you eat?”</p><p>“I ate my weight in pastry, thanks, even for me, that’s enough for the day.” He still hated this website, but Tony’s presence made things better.  Tony’s presence always made things better.  </p><p>Tony made a scoffing sound.  “Lacks protein, Steve.”  He ducked into the fridge again.  “We have turkey?  A couple of kinds of cheese, not much swiss left, though, I was looking forward to swiss.”  He leaned back, his eyebrows arching.  “Do you want the swiss?  Cause if you do-”</p><p>“I don’t,” Steve said, loving him so much it hurt.</p><p>Tony studied him, as if he doubted that.  “There’s munster.  If you want the swiss, I can have munster-”</p><p>Steve grinned at him.  “I don’t want any cheese, Tony.  You can-” He shook his head.  “Eat it all.”</p><p>“That’s a lot of cheese,” Tony said, leaving the fridge open as he went to the cabinet to retrieve a couple of plates.  “Have a cheese sandwich.  There’s ham, have a ham and cheese, Bruce bought some mustard from his last conference and it’s horrible; I love it.”</p><p>“Can you just worry about your own sandwich?” Steve asked him, amused.</p><p>Tony plated up some bread, ignoring it when the fridge started beeping, angry about its own door.  “It’s the same amount of effort to make two sandwiches as it is to make one and unless I’m actively involved in making a sandwich, I don’t think of of food.  So it’s not like I’m going to make you dinner one night unless it’s an afterthought to my own dinner.”</p><p>Steve pressed his hands to his face.  “Tony…”</p><p>Carrying a plate, Tony went back to the fridge, giving the door a kick on his way past.  “Shut up, you dumb appliance, or I’ll give you something to cry about.” Balancing the plate on his hand, he put a jar of mustard next to the bread and grabbed a head of lettuce, tossing it towards the counter.  “Do we know what kind of pickles these are?  Because I’m pretty sure pickles, but no label, and you’re usually responsible for unlabeled food-”</p><p>“You’re very important to me.”</p><p>Tony jumped, and Steve realized that had come out too loud, too hard, the words forced past the lump in his throat, past clenched teeth.  It echoed in the empty kitchen, leaving a strange, pained silence in its wake.</p><p>Tony stared at him around the refrigerator door, his face still.  “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Steve blinked.  “What?”</p><p>Tony slammed the door.  “Are you sick?”  He tossed the plate at the counter, and it hit with a clatter, scattering its contents.  “How long?”</p><p>“How long?” Steve parroted back, but Tony’s fingers cupped his jaw tipping his head up, and his mind went blank.</p><p>“How long have you known?  Who’s your doctor?  What’s the diagnosis?” Tony asked, and he was frowning for some reason, his face tight, his eyes sharp beneath the hard line of his brows.  “I should’ve known.”</p><p>“You should have?” Steve asked, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say.  At all.</p><p>“You’ve been acting strange these last few weeks.” Tony said.  “No.  Longer than that.”</p><p>“I have?” Steve asked.</p><p>Tony’s eyes darted over his face.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, and there was a break in the words, a crack in his voice.  “Steve.  Are you sick?” His throat worked.  “Are you dying?”</p><p>Reality hit him like a bat to the side of the head.  “I’m not.  What?  I’m not sick, why would you-” Tony was still staring at him, and his face was terrible.  “Tony.”  Steve shook his head.  “I’m not sick.  I’m fine.  I’m just-”  Tony’s hand slid away from his face, and Steve’s chest seized, the loss of that contact a physical blow.</p><p>He smiled.  “Tony, I’m fine.”</p><p>Tony didn’t move.  “Don’t you fucking lie to me, Rogers.  Don’t you fucking do that, I-”</p><p>“Tony.” Steve’s smile never wavered.  “I promise.  I’m-” He spread his hands.  “Healthy as a horse.”</p><p>After a long, still moment, Tony’s chin dipped in a slight nod.  “Right.  Of course.”  He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.  “Of course you are.”  </p><p>He took a step away, and another, and dropped into a kitchen chair.  “Of course you are,” he repeated, his head falling into his hands.  “Okay.  That was…”  He laughed again, and it didn’t sound like a laugh anymore.  “That was kind of an overreaction, wasn’t it?”</p><p>Steve took a deep breath. “Why did you think I was?”</p><p>Tony straightened up, climbing to his feet as if it took effort.  “Because the last time I wanted to say things like that, I was dying,” he said, his lips twitching.  One hand came up, fingers brushing against the front of his shirt, over the muted, steady glow of the arc reactor.  “You say stupid things when-”</p><p>He stopped, gave his head a quick shake.  “I say stupid things,” he said.  “All the time.”  He looked at Steve.  “So what was that about?”</p><p>Steve shook his head  “Nothing.  I just-” He managed a smile.  “It was just nice.  The sandwich offer, I mean.”  He looked back at the webpage.  “Can I have a ham and cheese?”</p><p>“Do you want the-”</p><p>It was all so ridiculous that he had to laugh, or he’d start crying. “You can have the swiss,” he said, and Tony smiled back at him.</p><p>“We can split it.”</p><p>“I am going to throw a slice of cheese at your head, I swear,” Steve said.  He squared his shoulders and focused on his notes.  He was not going to be defeated by a damn bakery website.  “Hey Tony?”</p><p>Tony considered the head of lettuce like it was Yorick’s skull.  “Yes?”</p><p>“Clint.  Pixie Sticks.  What happened?”</p><p>Tony paused.  “Sandwiches first.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What are you wearing?”</p><p>There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone.  “Why, are you getting me a corsage?” Sam asked at last, and Steve’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling.</p><p>“No.”  He stopped, a suit jacket hanging forgotten from his hand.  “Do you want a corsage?” he asked, because that sounded like information that Greer might want.</p><p>“I mean, if you show up with one, I’m not going to say no, even if it doesn’t quite match your cummerbund,” Sam said, and he was laughing, Steve could tell he was laughing.  </p><p>“Is this formal?” Steve looked at the jacket.  He tossed it towards the bed. “I didn’t think this was formal, I don’t-”</p><p>“Hey, hey, no.  No, Steve.  No, it’s not-  It’s not formal, it’s a holiday party, nobody’s coming in a tux.” Sam huffed out a breath.  “Why are you-”</p><p>“What are you wearing?” Steve repeated, digging through his closet.  A shirt slid off of a hanger, dropping to the floor, and he reached down to pick it up.  </p><p>“A button down shirt and a nice pair of pants, and an insanely tacky snowman hat,” Sam said.</p><p>Steve smiled.  “You’re going to wear a snowman hat all night?”</p><p>“I make this hat work,” Sam said.  “Seriously, why are you asking?”</p><p>Steve glanced over his shoulder.  There was an awful lot of clothing tossed around the room.  “I always end up wearing the wrong clothes to these things, Sam.”  He shoved a pair of pants aside and took a seat on the edge of the bed.  “I’ve got a talent for it.”</p><p>Sam made a humming noise under his breath.  “Not that I’ve noticed,” he said.  “So, while I’m not downplaying your feelings here, Steve, maybe it’s something I can reassure you about.  I think perhaps you’re uncomfortable with what you’re wearing to social gatherings like this, because you’re uncomfortable with these gatherings, full stop.”</p><p>Steve stared into the middle distance.  “Maybe it’s because I’m the only one wearing a sweater.”</p><p>“At the pool party, that was a little odd,” Sam said, and almost against his will, Steve laughed.  “But here, a sweater is weather appropriate.  Put on a nice sweater and a pair of chinos.  I’ve got a spare Santa hat that I can lend you, but I expect you to give it back.”</p><p>Steve chuckled.  “I mean, what if it looks better on me than it does on you?”</p><p>“Well, it is the season for miracles,” Sam said.  He paused.  “Want me to come over and be your fashion consultant?”</p><p>Steve looked at the wasteland that was his bedroom. “How much do you charge?”</p><p>“My fees are reasonable and I’m very liberal in offering credit,” Sam said.  “I’ll be down in ten.  Have coffee.”</p><p>“I’ll make a fresh pot,” Steve said, pushing himself to his feet.  “Thanks, Sam.”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, can’t have you asking Tony out while wearing a wetsuit or something.”</p><p>Steve grinned. “I don’t know, think it’ll improve my chances?” he asked.</p><p>“It’d certainly get his attention. Talk to you soon.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve said, but Sam was already gone.  Shaking his head, he slid his phone into his pocket.  Walking into the kitchen, he instinctively looked at the clock.  Hours.  He had hours until the party started.  It was fine.  He was fine.  </p><p>He’d figure it out.  </p><p>He rinsed out the coffee pot, doing his best not to look at his latest bad decision.  It was hard.  The vase was sitting right next to the sink, a massive arrangement of red and white roses surrounded by holly leaves.  It had seemed like such a good idea when he’d ordered it, but a lot of bad ideas seemed like good ideas at two am on a sleepless night.</p><p>He’d almost forgotten he’d ordered it until it showed up.  Now that it was here, he had no idea what to do with it.  The idea of actually giving it to Tony made his stomach hurt.</p><p>He turned his attention to filling the coffee pot.  It was nice to have a task he could accomplish.  </p><p>Halfway through filling the filter with grounds, the doorbell chimed, and he tossed the pot into place.  “That was a quick ten minutes,” he mumbled, but headed for the door.  “Did you run?” he asked, throwing the door open and coming to a dead stop.</p><p>Jan blinked up at him, her finger still hovering over the doorbell, as if she was going to ring it a second time in under 60 seconds.  Right behind her, Tony was standing, his arms crossed over his chest</p><p>Steve wished he was wearing a pair of sweatpants that didn’t have a rather unfortunate hole right on the ass.  Trying to be subtle, the pulled his shirt down.  “Uh, morning?” His eyes darted from Jan to Tony and back.  “What’s up?”</p><p>“Hi, Steve!” Jan said, and it was a bit louder than he’d been expecting.</p><p>He smiled back.  “Hi?”</p><p>She rocked on her toes, weaving her fingers together in front of her.  “So, the desserts arrived.”</p><p>Steve looked at her, and then at Tony, and Tony had a strangely…  Sympathetic look on his face.  His heart sinking, Steve looked back to Jan.  “Isn’t…  That a good thing?”</p><p>“Yes,” she said, drawing the word out, her hands fluttering nervously in front of her chest for a second before she corralled them again.  “It’s…  Yes.  It’s good that we have desserts.”  She said it firmly.  With feeling.  Like she was trying to convince him, or possibly just herself.  “The issue is, we have…  We have a lot of desserts.”</p><p>“Oh.  Oh!” Some of the tension went out of Steve’s shoulders.  “Yes.  I mean, yes, I kind of upped the number of guests, because a lot of our guys are, well, they’re pretty big eaters, and even if it’s just dessert, you know, I didn’t want to run out?”</p><p>Jan nodded.  “Definitely, that is…  That’s a good plan, better too much than too little, it’s just-”</p><p>“It’s just we have more than a little too much,” Tony said, drawing Steve’s attention.  He was smiling, with that particular, familiar warmth that always made Steve’s stomach turn over.  “So, how many people did you tell them we were having?”</p><p>Steve looked back at Jan.  “Seventy?” he said, and Jan nodded, her teeth digging into her lower lip.</p><p>“I told you,” Tony said.  “I told you.  That website is a piece of shit, Jan.”</p><p>“It’s a reputable bakery, Tony,” she said, the words tight.</p><p>“It’s a disreputable website, Jan,” Tony said.</p><p>Steve held up his hands.  “Can someone please tell me-”</p><p>“You didn’t order for seventy people,” Tony said, his voice brisk.  “You ordered seventy assorted dessert platters.”  Steve stared at him.  Tony gave him a slight, sympathetic smile.  “And each of them is intended to feed ten people.”</p><p>Steve’s chest seized.  “No.”</p><p>Tony nodded.  “Yes.”</p><p>“No, I-”  Steve sucked in a breath, and it did nothing, it did absolutely nothing to ease the tension that twisted his lungs.  “No, I ordered assorted pastries for seventy people.  I-”  He looked at Tony, desperate for confirmation.  “That was what I did.  Ordered pastries for-”</p><p>“Seven hundred people,” Tony said, and there was such warmth in his face, in his voice.  He smiled.  “We’ve got…  We’ve got a lot of pastry, Steve.”  His eyes flicked down.  “Don’t take it out on the hardware, Cap.”</p><p>Steve realized he was gripping the doorknob hard enough to bend it.  He forced his fingers free.  “I’ll pay for-”</p><p>Tony waved him off.  “It’s fine, it’s-”</p><p>“Oh God, it’s so much pastry,” Jan said, and she sounded like she was going to cry.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “I’ll pay-”</p><p>“No, you won’t,” Tony said, catching Jan by the shoulders and turning her to face him. “Hey.”  He gave her a slight shake, and her head bounced up, her eyes catching his, and he smiled.  “I told you what happened, and now you’ve stressed Cap out-”</p><p>“I’m not-” Steve scraped a hand over his face.  “No, seriously, I’ll pay for this, it’s my fault, I’ll-”</p><p>“Shut uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup,” Tony sing-songed, still holding Jan’s gaze.  “Van Dyne.  Snap out of it.  This is not a problem.  This is the opposite of a problem.  This is something that we’ll laugh about by the end of the night, or probably not, because Steve looks like he’s going to cry and that makes me incredibly uncomfortable, so we’re going to laugh about this next year, but for now, you’re going to snap out of whatever pity party you’re throwing and focus on the pretty party we’re actually throwing.”</p><p>He leaned in.  “The party YOU’RE throwing.”</p><p>Jan sucked in a breath.  “Right,” she said, and then, again, “Right.”  She reached up, scrubbing delicately at the corners of her eyes with the heel of her hand.  She blinked hard.  “We can handle this.”</p><p>Tony  grinned at her.  “You can handle this.  I’m useless.”</p><p>She reached up, cupping his face in her hands.  “Yes,” she said, with a wealth of feeling in her words.  “Yes, you absolutely are.”  She went up on her toes, brushing a kiss on his cheek.  “Absolutely useless.”</p><p>Tony laughed.  “Go get ‘em, tiger.”</p><p>Steve shifted his weight.  “I’m sorry, Jan, I can-”</p><p>She was already nodding.  “No.  No, thank you, Steve, I’ve got this, I’ve-”  She grinned, her whole face lighting up with it.  “I’ve got this handled, Tony, give me your phone.”</p><p>“No,” Tony said, but she was already digging through his pockets.  Tony tried to fend her off. “Woman-” She pulled his phone out with a triumphant sound, and grabbed his hand.  “Why would I let you do this?” Tony asked as she tried to force his finger onto the unlock sensor. He shook her off and held his hand over his head.  “This is undignified.”</p><p>She held the phone out to him. “Unlock it or deal with this problem yourself.”</p><p>Tony unlocked it.</p><p>Jan gave him a bright smile.  “Thank you,” she said, digging into his contacts.  Without another words, she turned on her heel, heading up the hall at a brisk pace.  In a moment, she was gone.</p><p>Steve stared after her. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p>Tony smiled at him.  “It’s fine,” he said, and when Steve opened his mouth, he held up a hand.  “It’s fine, Steve.  Honestly.”  He rocked back on his heels, his shoulders back, a slight smile on his face.  “I’ve known her since her unicorn phase.”</p><p>“Is she still in her unicorn phase?” Steve asked, making Tony laugh.</p><p>“No.  She is not.”  Tony slipped his hands in his pockets.  “The point is, I’ve know her for a long time, and if something hadn’t gone wrong, she would’ve spent the first two thirds of the party waiting for something to go wrong, and the last third assuming something had gone wrong, and she’d missed it.  She’ll never admit it, but she’s got a tiny superstitious streak.  </p><p>“This is something that’s bad, but not…  Not that bad,” Tony said.  “She’ll fix it before the party even starts, and be able to relax.”  He smiled.  “Right now, if she had sleeves, she’d be rolling them up.”</p><p>Steve looked at him.  “I-”</p><p>“Stop.”  Tony was laughing.  “It’s fine, Steve.  If there’s stuff leftover, well, most of it will freeze, and what won’t freeze will be eaten, it’s-” He reached out, his hand cupping Steve’s shoulder.  “It’s fine.  I can afford it.”</p><p>“I’ll pay for it.”</p><p>“You can’t afford it,” Tony said, without missing a beat, and Steve made a pained noise. Tony grinned.  “It’s fine, Steve.  It’s just fine.”</p><p>Steve stared at him, looking for some sign of annoyance or anger on his face, but there was nothing, nothing but Tony, relaxed and smiling.  “One second,” he said, and before he could think better of it, he took a step back, and another, retreating, and then half jogging, half sprinting towards the kitchen, his hands pulling down on the hem of his shirt with every step.</p><p>The water in the vase sloshed as he grabbed it, and the roses vibrated with every step he took back towards Tony, shivering in his grip, and he tried not to think of that, tried not think of any of it and then he was back at the front door, and Sam was there, but Sam had seen him do worse, Sam had absolutely seen him do worse and not said a word, he could do this he could do this he could do this.</p><p>Steve shoved the vase at Tony.  “Here,” he said, because that was what came to his lips, drowning out the the words he wanted to say, the words he was desperate to say, all those words flooding his mind, filling his throat, the words of affection, of need, of love, and he tried again.  “Here.”</p><p>Steve squeezed his eyes shut.  He.  Was.  An.  Idiot.</p><p>“Oh.” Steve’s eyes snapped open again, meeting Tony’s over the bloom, and it was Tony, half hidden by flowers, those clear brown eyes blinking at him, half hidden by velvety petals.  Steve a sudden, sharp thought of how those petals would look on his skin, and his face heated.</p><p>Then Tony was taking the vase from him, long, strong fingers cradling the crystal, drawing it out of Steve’s hands.  “So no one on this team trusted Jess with the flower arrangements.”</p><p>Steve stared at him.  “What.”</p><p>Tony held up the vase, and he was smiling.  “Yeah, you’re about the fifth person to contribute an arrangement,” he said.</p><p>Sam was staring at him, too.  “Wow,” he said, and that was cutting from a man with a wrapped box under his arm and a snowman knit hat on his head.  “Tony, I don’t think-’’</p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her,” Tony said, waving him off.  He cradled the vase in the crook of his arm, his chin up, his smile picture perfect.  “Besides, we can crown the Queen of the Holidays with these.”  He turned that smile on Steve.  “Thanks, I’ll make sure Jan puts them in a place of honor.”</p><p>Steve opened his mouth.  “I…  Appreciate it,” he managed.  He stood there, watching Tony walk away.  When the elevator door shut after him, Steve took a deep breath.  “That,” he said, his voice dire, “was not my fault.”</p><p>Sam threw an arm over Steve’s shoulders.  “I got bad news, man.”</p><p>“I can’t take any more bad news,” Steve said.</p><p>“You’re trying to date the most oblivious man I have ever met,” Sam said.  “Have you considered…”  He took a deep breath. “Anyone else on earth?”</p><p>Steve sighed.  “I never claimed to be smart,” he said.  </p><p>Sam grinned.  “Guess we’ll just have to rely on your looks,” he said.  He dropped his arm and tapped the box against Steve’s chest.  “This should help.”</p><p>Steve took it.  “What’s this?”</p><p>Sam looked at the box.  Looked at him, his eyebrows arching.  “Has…  Has no one given you a Christmas present before, Tiny Tim?”</p><p>Steve weighed the box in his hands, his eyes narrowed.  “I could beat you to death with this, you realize that, right?”</p><p>“I’d encourage you to try, ‘cause I’m pretty sure even you would have trouble doing any lasting damage with a shirt box, but hey.” Sam stepped into Steve’s apartment, heading for the kitchen.  “You do you.”</p><p>“I bet I could do it,” Steve said, following him.  The coffee pot was half full when they walked in, and Sam opened a cabinet, pulling out a couple of mugs.  Steve set the box down on the table.  “I thought we were doing gift exchange on Christmas.”</p><p>“Yeah, but…  I’m going to jump the gun.” Sam waved the coffee pot at Steve before filling a cup.  “Go ahead, Steve.  Open it.”</p><p>Steve took a seat at the table, finding the seam of the paper and sliding a finger under the colorful paper.  He worked the tape loose, pushing the paper back with deliberate motions.  Sam set a cup of coffee down next to him.  “Maybe you should start on your presents now,” Sam said, taking a seat across the table from him.  His fingers cradled the cup, huddling into the warmth for a moment before taking a sip.  “If it takes you this long, we’ll still be waiting for you to be done on New Year’s Day.”</p><p>“Patience,” Steve said, ignoring the scoffing sound Sam made.  Pulling the paper free, he set it aside, and opened the box.  Inside was a Prussian blue sweater, and Steve reached out, running careful fingers over the intricate cording of the wool.  He looked up to find Sam smiling at him over the rim of his coffee cup.</p><p>“That’s what you’re wearing tonight,” he said, and Steve grinned at him.</p><p>“Oh, do you think so?” he pulled the sweater out of the box, holding it up in front of him.  It fell against his chest like it was made for him. </p><p>“Makes your eyes pop,” Sam said.  “Trust me.  Your choice of himbos won’t be able to resist you.  Despite your lack of social skills and that hole in the back of your pants.”</p><p>“I cannot wait for you to get your comeuppance,” Steve said, reaching for his coffee cup. “I cannot wait.”</p><p>“Never going to happen.  Unlike you, I’ve got my shit together.”  Sam leaned back in his chair.  “Now all we have to do is find you some pants.”</p><p>Steve glanced at his bedroom, remembering the state of the his closet. “Good luck with that.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Welcome to the Avengers Tower holiday party!” Jan, clad in a red velvet dress trimmed with silver metallic snowflakes, spread her arms wide.  She was wearing silver fingerless gloves and a cunning little hat trimmed with silver lace and tiny silk poinsettias.  “We’re so glad you made it!</p><p>“There are games in the lounge, s’mores and cocoa by the fire, the buffet is set up in the main dining room, white elephant gift exchange is set up down by the balcony entrance, and if you’d like to join in with the madrigal singing later on tonight, just let Jarvis know, and he’ll download the sheet music into your device of choice,” she said with a smile.  </p><p>“At the end of the night, everyone is welcome to take one of these assorted dessert trays.”  She gestured at the display platter with all the grace and charm of a game show hostess.  It had been wrapped in colored cellophane and topped with a big bow. “Or, if you’d prefer, we’ve partnered with the Maria Stark foundation to distribute the extras to their network of homeless shelters, domestic violence safe houses, and children’s charities.”</p><p>There was a beat of silence.  “This is the best day of my LIFE,” Franklin Richards said, his voice shaking with the force of that sentiment.</p><p>“No,” his mother said, snagging him by the back of his shirt.  Sue looked at Jan.  “We’ll take one.”</p><p>“It’s one per person, or…”</p><p>Sue was already shaking her head.  “It’s one per family for us,” she said, ignoring the way both Franklin and Johnny groaned at that.  “We will take one.”</p><p>Behind her, Ben held up two rocky fingers.  “Two,” he mouthed, and Jan gave him a wink.</p><p>“Understood, and the Maria Stark Foundation thanks you for your kind donation,” she said, reaching for her clipboard and her pen.  It was a ballpoint, but there was quill attached to it.  For flair, Steve supposed.  “Please enjoy yourselves, and let me know if there’s anything you need tonight.”</p><p>“You don’t even live here,” Johnny said, and ducked as his sister swiped at his head.  “What?  She doesn’t?”</p><p>Jan peered at him over the top of her clipboard.  “I get all the fun parts of party planning, and none of the cleanup,” she said, flicking the quill at him.  “When it’s over, I get to leave.”</p><p>“Otherwise know as ‘how you live your life,’ even though you do live there,” Ben grumbled, putting Johnny in a headlock.  “C’mon, hot pants, before the bouncer has you removed.”</p><p>Johnny twisted his head to the side as best he could.  “Are you the bouncer?” he asked Steve with a grin.</p><p>Steve held up his plate.  “I’m just here to eat pastry,” he said.</p><p>“And look intimidating,” Jan said, smiling down at her paperwork.  “Reed, Hank’s hiding down in the lounge, probably playing a game of solitaire of his own design, I’d appreciate it if you’d go distract him for a bit.”</p><p>Reed smiled.  “Is he still working on that Pym Particle delivery system involving plant roots?”</p><p>Jan paused.  “Is THAT where all my potted plants have gone?”</p><p>Reed winced.  “I mean, there’s really no way to-”</p><p>“Yes,” Val said.  She tugged on her father’s hand.  “Let’s go see if I can figure out the rules to his card game without asking him!”</p><p>“Right,” Reed said, as they moved away from the door.</p><p>“Are you eating nothing but desserts?”</p><p>Steve looked over to find Tony coming up behind him, a warm smile on his face.  He was dressed in a perfectly tailored deep crimson shirt, his vest and tie a dark green that should’ve clashed but somehow didn’t.  He took Steve’s plate out of his hand, ignoring the way Steve tried to grab it back. “What is this, pastry penance?”</p><p>Steve rolled his eyes.  “Most people are happy with a meal made up of sweets.”  </p><p>“Uh-huh.”  Tony held the plate out of reach.  “Jan handled it.  Don’t make yourself sick over some damn mini cannoli, Steve, and go get some real food.  I can take most of this team on an extended sugar rush, I do not know if I’d survive you.”</p><p>Steve smiled at him.  “You going to be, I mean, you’re sticking around, right?”</p><p>Tony picked up a mini cream puff from what used to be Steve’s plate and popped it in his mouth.  “Pretty sure Jan’s convinced Jarvis to lock me out of my lab, so you should have the pleasure of my company for a little while.” He gave Steve a wink.  “Don’t get used to it.”</p><p>“I never have,” Steve said, but Tony was already moving away, and Steve watched him go, hating how he could never seem to figure out how to make Tony stay.  </p><p>He squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed for the mistletoe.  </p><p>Jan had designed a beautiful little alcove for her custom mistletoe bells.  It was an archway covered in swags of evergreen boughs woven through the polished wood.  Swags of ribbon held the mistletoe in place at the high point of the arch, easily in reach for most, and with a strand of ribbon attached for anyone shorter than average.</p><p>Steve ducked under the trailing boughs, reaching up with one hand to brush the bells with the tips of his fingers.  Even that tiny touch was enough to send them swinging in place, the bells ringing with a high, clear chime.</p><p>“What’s that?”</p><p>Steve looked down to find Val staring up at the bells.  Steve looked up at them as well.  “Oh.  Jan made bells out of mistletoe.”</p><p>“Why?” Val asked as Carol and Jess walked up behind her.</p><p>“So that someone can get a kiss, if they want a kiss,” Carol said with a smile.  She threw her hands out.  “We’re here for kisses!”</p><p>“Oh.”  Val looked at Steve.  “Are you going to kiss Cap?”</p><p>“You don’t have to-” Steve started, but Jess was already waving a hand in the air.</p><p>“I will, I will!” she said.</p><p>Carol gasped and clutched at her chest.  “What?  Right in front of your loving girlfriend?”</p><p>“Fine, no tongue,” Jess said.</p><p>“Wait, what-” Steve started, but Carol was laughing.</p><p>“Well, as long as there’s no tongue,” she said, waving at Steve, “have at him.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” Steve said, but Jess put a gentle hand on his shoulder and brushed a kiss against his cheek.  He gave her a side-eye.  “You’re trouble.”</p><p>She tossed her hair with a flick of her head.  “Thanks for noticing.”</p><p>“Can I give you a kiss, too, Cap?” Val asked.</p><p>Steve crouched down in front of her, his arms braced on his legs.  “You can if you want to?” he said, and she nodded.  “Okay, then, go ahead.”</p><p>She kissed him gently on his other cheek.  “Merry Christmas, Cap.”</p><p>He smiled.  “Merry Christmas, Val.”</p><p>*</p><p>Attempt six.</p><p>Okay, so the previous five tries hadn’t worked, Tony had either hadn’t been close enough, or had gotten distracted, or someone else had been closer, but Steve was stubborn and the night was still young.  He could absolutely do this.</p><p>“How’re we doing?”</p><p>“I’ve been kissed by half the team and not the one I was hoping for,” Steve gritted out, his eyes darting towards Sam’s before he went back to scanning the room.  Tony had been here a minute ago, he was sure of it, but now he couldn’t-</p><p>He grabbed Sam’s arm, shoving him towards the mistletoe.  “Ring the mistletoe.”</p><p>Sam yelped, his feet skidding on the floor.  “What?”</p><p>Steve craned his head, trying to keep track of his new target.  “Ring the mistletoe.”</p><p>Sam stared at him.  “Are you-  Look, man, if you want to kiss me, for like, practice or something, that’s fine, we don’t need to do the bell thing-”</p><p>Steve’s head napped back towards Sam.  “Ring the damn bell,” he said, and Sam rang the bells.</p><p>“Okay, okay, what is wrong with-”</p><p>“Would you like a kiss?”</p><p>Greer was wearing a green dress that reminded Steve a little of a toga.  The gauzy, layered fabric was clasped at her shoulders and flowed into a curved neckline that dipped low over her cleavage.  The skirt swirled around her thighs with each step, the fabric curling against her legs like sea foam.  Her hair had been styled into large, soft curls and piled up in a crown of holly.  She was carrying a bouquet of big, bright golden daisies, the petals tipped in red.</p><p>Sam blinked at her.  “I-  If you want to?  I mean-”  He cleared his throat.  “Nice flowers.”</p><p>Greer smiled, wide and bright.  “They’re for you, actually.”  She held the flowers out to him, and his face went slack.  Before he could muster a response, she kept going.  “I rather like you.  A lot.  And I was wondering if you were free next week for dinner?  I managed to get a reservation at that Indian restaurant you were talking about, and thought you might want to join me?”</p><p>Sam’s mouth opened.  Nothing came out.</p><p>Greer’s big, golden eyes blinked. “And I’d like to kiss you, but I’d understand if that’s not-” Her nose wrinkled.  “If that puts pressure on you.  So a kiss on the cheek if you’d like to let me down easy, and a kiss on the lips if you’d like to join me for dinner?”</p><p>Sam nodded.  Greer waited, her eyebrows arched.  Steve reached out and gave Sam a firm nudge. Sam sucked in an audible breath. “Mouth please,” he said, and Greer’s face split in a grin.</p><p>She took a step forward, her head tipping towards his, and kissed him.  And judging by Sam’s reaction, he was kissing her right back.</p><p>When she finally stepped back, she left Sam with an arm full of flowers and a bright smile on his face.  She rocked backwards, her hands behind her back, her head tilted forward.  “Next Friday?  Dinner?”</p><p>“Dinner,” Sam said, with a great deal of enthusiasm, and Greer nipped in for one more quick, light kiss, her lips brushing against Sam’s.</p><p>“Good,” she said, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.  “Good.”  She took a step back, her skirts floating in her wake.  “If you’re free later tonight, we were going to play a round of pool, and I made everyone else promise not to say anything embarrassing.”</p><p>“That’s…  That’s not going to work,” Steve told her.</p><p>“There were threats of violence,” Greer said, her teeth flashing in a feral smile.  “Which will work on everyone other than Natasha, and she doesn’t bother with the shovel talk, she just waits behind you with the shovel.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Steve said.</p><p>“That’s true,” Sam repeated.</p><p>Steve tipped his head in Sam’s direction.  “We’ll work our way up to pool.”</p><p>She laughed.  “I’d appreciate it.”  And she bounced off, leaving both men staring after her.</p><p>Steve cleared his throat.  Sam took a deep breath.  “Don’t you say a-”</p><p>“Comeuppance,” Steve said, his voice bright, and quickly got out of range when Sam took a swing at him with his flowers.  Laughing, Steve backed up, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “So suave, so charming, I can’t believe-”</p><p>“You knew,” Sam said, stalking after him.  “You goddamn bastard, you KNEW.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Steve said with a grin.</p><p>“Did you consider, you know, giving me a word of warning?” Sam asked, the bouquet raised over his head like a club.</p><p>“I mean, I considered it, but I was assured you had your shit together,” Steve said, ducking around a table.  “Why would you need-”</p><p>“Give me back that sweater, you asshole!”</p><p>Laughing, Steve made a break for the door.  “Comeuppance!”</p><p>*</p><p>Attempt fourteen.</p><p>Steve could see Tony across the room, but he was heading in Steve’s direction, chatting easily with Maria Hill, stirring a cup of cocoa with a candy cane.  He was laughing at something she was saying, and Maria was smiling, her posture relaxed.</p><p>Steve took a deep breath, and reached up to ring the bells.</p><p>“Hey, Cap!”</p><p>Steve jerked his hand back down.  “Hi, Luke,” he said, trying for a natural smile. “Enjoying yourself?”</p><p>Luke Cage saluted him with a plate full of appetizers.  “You guys know how to throw a party,” he said with a wide grin.  He was wearing a white sweater adorned with blue snowflakes and a red scarf around his neck for a rakish dash of color.  He looked at the alcove.  “What’s all this?”</p><p>“Oh!  Jan told me about this!” Danny Rand popped up behind Luke’s back, his eyes wide.  He was wearing a truly terrible Christmas sweater and oversized Santa hat.  “Mistletoe!” </p><p>Danny held his plate out towards Luke, who gave it a look.  “What do you expect me to do with that?” he asked, gesturing with a piece of beef teriyaki.</p><p>“Hold it while I kiss Cap,” Danny said.</p><p>Luke snorted under his breath.  “You can’t kiss one handed?”</p><p>“Not if I’m doing it right!”</p><p>Luke gave him a look. “You kiss like an asthmatic carp.”</p><p>Steve’s eyes darted between them.  “It’s okay, really, I-”</p><p>“So what?” Danny asked him.  “You’re going to kiss him?”</p><p>“Why not?  I’m a better kisser than you.” Danny gave a bark of laughter, and Luke stopped, midway through a bite of his beef on a stick.  His eyebrows arched.  “You got something to say, little man?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Danny tossed his plate at the nearest flat surface.  It might've broken.  “I’m a better kisser than you.”</p><p>Luke’s teeth flashed, and he snapped the stick in half with one hand.  “Put your money where your mouth should be.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve said, and it was clear neither of them was paying the least bit of attention to him. “Um, this is really-”</p><p>“Don’t take it personally, this is their problem.”</p><p>Steve jumped, and turned to find Jessica standing just behind him, a plate of mini sliders and raw vegetables in her hand.  He tried to smile.  “Sorry, I-” He reached for his punch glass.  “I don’t know what happened.”</p><p>“Unresolved sexual tension.”  Jessica’s teeth sank into a stick of celery, giving it a brutal twist. “One of these days, one of them is going to figure out that threeways are a thing and I will have 98% less problems in my life.”</p><p>Steve choked on his punch, his hand coming up to cover his mouth before he could end up dribbling all the way down his shirt.  “Ah-” he managed.  “That’s a-”  He swallowed.  “That’s a possibility.”</p><p>“That’s a rock solid certainly,” Jessica said, picking up a baby carrot from her plate.  “I’m fine with it.”  She looked at Steve. “God knows I’m not capable of doing the emotional heavy lifting in this relationship.”  </p><p>Steve struggled to find something to say to that, but she didn’t seem to be interested in a response.  She leaned a hand on his bicep and brushed a light kiss across his cheek, and both Luke and Danny  fell silent.  Jessica took a step back.  She patted Steve lightly on the chest.  “Beat that, boys,” she said.</p><p>Steve drained his punch.  “I need a drink.”</p><p>*</p><p>Attempt twenty.</p><p>Tony had commandeered a tray of champagne flutes and was wandering the room, distributing them with a charming smile and his usual grace.  Steve kept a close eye on him, waiting for him to work his way through the crowd, so he was close enough to see, and hear, and react, then he reached up, and rang the mistletoe bells.</p><p>The instant he did, Logan stepped directly into his line of sight, a plate piled high with fried shrimp in one hand and a tumbler of brandy in the other.  He stopped, looking at Steve with narrowed eyes and a scowl.</p><p>“Oh,” Steve said.  “Sorry.  I-” </p><p>Logan reached up, wrapped an hand around the back of Steve’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips.  Then he let go and kept walking, tossing a fried shrimp into the air and catching it in his mouth.</p><p>Steve blinked at nothing in particular.  “Right,” he said.  He reached up, pressing a fisted hand to his lips.  “Right.”</p><p>And as soon as Logan walked away, he found himself face to face with Tony, who was staring at him, his eyebrows arched.  “Champagne?” he asked, his lips twitching.</p><p>Steve took it.</p><p>*</p><p>Attempt twenty-nine.</p><p>Steve took a deep breath and let it out.  All right.  It had been a long night.  A very long night.  He was pretty sure he’d now kissed or been kissed by literally every single person at this party.  The law of averages had to favor him eventually.</p><p>Either that, or he had to admit that he was cursed.  And he refused to believe in curses.</p><p>Tony was nearby, sipping a coffee and chatting with Hank and Reed.  Steve was pretty sure that he should break it up anyway, there was only so long the three of them could go before they started to fight with each other.</p><p>He reached up, and rang the bells.  Tony’s head swung in his direction, a curious look on his face.</p><p>There was a sudden, violent explosion of wind that sent napkins and hats flying, a flash of lightning, a clap of thunder, and a burst of flame, splashing across the floor in a flare of flickering green light.  A dark figure emerged from the flame, rising from the depths, a great, winged shadow that that towered eight, ten, twelve feet high, the black tips of its outstretched arms scraping across the ceiling.</p><p>Before collapsing back into the familiar form of Doctor Stephen Strange.</p><p>In the silence that followed, he brushed flames away from his cape.  “Am I late?” he asked, his voice cheerful. </p><p>There was a beat of silence, then Jan yelled from across the room, “COME OVER HERE AND GET YOUR JUST DESSERTS,” and Steve gave up.</p><p>*</p><p>“I vote we pick up tomorrow,” Carol said, surveying the function room.</p><p>“I vote we make the boys do it,” Greer said, her arms crossed over her chest.</p><p>“I vote we hire someone to clean up,” Jess said.</p><p>“I vote we burn the place to the ground,” Jan said.  Everyone looked at her, and she shrugged.  “What?”</p><p>“Unexpectedly dark for you,” Carol said, pointing at her.  “Did you get Jess’ script?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m the-” Jess broke off to yawn, her whole face scrunching up with the force of it.  “I’m the crazy one of the group.  Stop biting my style.”</p><p>“I can be inappropriately destructive if I want to be,” Jan said, and Steve realized he was laughing.</p><p>“Okay,” he said, holding up his hands.  “Okay.  Let’s just-” He huffed out a breath.  “Let’s just get some rest, it’s been-  It’s been a hell of a day.”</p><p>“I second this,” Natasha said from the door.</p><p>“Did you find Clint?” Carol asked.</p><p>“Sound asleep on the pool table,” Natasha said.  “His back is going to be very displeased with him tomorrow.”</p><p>“How many couches are in this place?” Jan asked, rubbing her forehead.  “How many couches, and he looks at a pool table and goes, ‘yeah, that’s the ticket.’”</p><p>“He’s a practical man,” Natasha said with a smile.  “It was there.  He was tired.  Probably seemed almost logical at the time.  He’s a special boy.”  </p><p>Steve moved to the door.  Natasha’s eyebrow twitched up, a flicker of movement, but she didn’t object when he braced his hands on either side of the doorframe, effectively blocking all escape.  “What happened with Clint and the Pixy Stix?” </p><p>There was a beat of silence, and then all of them moved towards the door.  He gripped the door frame with both hands.  “Don’t even try it,” he said.  “Someone’s telling me.”</p><p>Natasha sighed, her arms crossed over her chest.  “About two hundred deep, he decided that if he put enough Jell-O into the pool, he could make a gelatin trampoline out of it,” she said.</p><p>Steve considered that.  “That’s idiotic.”</p><p>“Yes.  It is,” she said, her face expressionless.  “He didn’t, though.  Because it’s an Olympic sized pool, and after some quick and rough calculations and then calling Bruce and making him do the calculations over again, they-”</p><p>“Who is ‘they’?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Clint and Thor and Sam-”</p><p>“SAM was involved?” Steve asked.</p><p>“Sam likes a train wreck as much as the next man, that’s why he’s on this team,” Greer said with a grin.  “If he had self-preservation skills, he would not be here.”</p><p>“And now Bruce,” Natasha continued.  “And they couldn’t A. buy that much Jell-O and B. transport that much Jell-O. However, know what’s much smaller than the pool?”</p><p>“A bowl in his own kitchen?” Steve asked.</p><p>“The hot tub,” Carol said, and Steve gave a full body wince.  “Yeah.  Anyway, they found a place that usually does restaurant wholesale for like, cruise ships, a place that sold Jell-O powder in fifty pound boxes, and-”</p><p>“Bought that,” Natasha said. “In red.  Then dumped it into the hot tub until it was roughly the consistency of sludge.  Which brought up a new problem.”  Her head tipped to the side.  “What actually causes the geling reaction of Jell-O?”</p><p>“Refrigeration,” Steve said.</p><p>“Yes,” Natasha said.  “And even if they could convince Jarvis to reduce the temperature in the room low enough to make it solidify, it would take forever, because of the heated pool.”</p><p>“And while they were arguing about this, someone turned it on,” Carol said.  “It wasn’t me.”</p><p>“I’m not reassured that you had to say that,” Steve said.  “When did you-”</p><p>“Anyway,” Carol said, “it DID get turned on and now it’s a hot tub full of bright red, bubbling, viscous liquid.”  She paused.  “That’s when Jess yelled ‘Magma, all in!’ and jumped in fully clothed.”</p><p>Steve looked at Jess.  She grinned.  “I regret nothing.”</p><p>“Right,” he said.</p><p>“So the hot tub ended up full of idiots,” Natasha said, her voice expressionless, “and Jell-O.  And Jell-O covered idiots.”  She paused.  “Until the, you know, massive amounts of sugar and gelatin in the water caused the filter to clog, then the motor overheated, then-”</p><p>“Then there was a mass exodus of red Jell-O covered idiots,” Jess said.</p><p>Steve nodded.  “Why the hell did Sitwell give him Pixy Stix?”</p><p>“I don’t know, but considering he kept eye contact with Coulson the entire time he was handing the package over and while Clint was unwrapping it?”  Natasha shrugged.  “I’d say revenge.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve said.  And again, “Right.”</p><p>“This is why I don’t live here,” Jan said.</p><p>“I wouldn't, but-” Natasha gave an elegant shrug.  “My tell-all biography will benefit from it.”</p><p>Steve let his hands drop.  “I’m not going to ask how I missed this-”</p><p>“You were yelling at the President that weekend,” Greer said.  Steve paused, and she smiled.  “You do not remember, do you?”</p><p>“It happens a lot,” Steve admitted.  “Okay.  Right.  Everyone go to bed.  Pickup can wait until tomorrow.”</p><p>“Can we please just call the service?” Jess mumbled into Carol’s shoulder.  Carol patted her gently on the head and she made a sad noise.  “I really like our cleaning service.”</p><p>“You like not having to clean,” Carol said.</p><p>“That, too.”</p><p>“Go to bed,” Steve said with a smile.  </p><p>“The Council of Lesbians and Steve is disbanded,” Carol announced, and someone chucked a balled up napkin at her.  “Your acts of political violence change nothing."</p><p>“Go to bed,” Steve repeated, and everyone filed out.  </p><p>Greer paused.  “You, too,” she said.</p><p>Steve nodded. “I will,” he said.  “Just going to… Unwind a bit.”</p><p>She didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded.  “Things’ll seem better in the morning.”</p><p>Steve managed a smile.  “I’m sure they will.  Sleep well, Greer.”</p><p>“Sleep well.”  She reached out, her fingers just ghosting over his chest.  “Good night.”</p><p>“Good night.”  He waited until she slipped out of the function room, then he reached for the trash can.</p><p>The waitstaff Jan had hired had been efficient and well trained.  Before they’d left for the night, they’d wrapped up the excess food and collected the used dishes and glassware, filling the fridge and the dishwasher.  Despite their best efforts, though, a few pieces had escaped their notice, and Steve busied himself tossing the occasional discarded napkin or bit of food, collecting plates from side tables and from the floor beside chairs.</p><p>He put pillows back on couches and wiped crumbs from tables.  He collected champagne flutes from the fireplace and forks from the lounge, put board games back in their boxes and turned off video game systems.  The tower was quiet now, with only the soft sound of the carols played over the sound system to keep him company.</p><p>In the function room, he tied off the garbage bag, leaving it by the door for easy pickup, and looked around.  The mistletoe alcove was going to have to come down, but he just the thought of it caused a strange sort of twinge in his chest.  It took him only a minute or two to pull the bells free, and the rest, he left where it stood.</p><p>That could be someone else’s problem.</p><p>Suddenly exhausted, he wandered back to the living room, where Jarvis still had a fire going in the hearth.  He dropped down onto the couch, his breath leaving him in a soft groan.  For a moment, he just watched the fire.  He held the bells up in front of him and gave them one last shake.  They rang, clear and bright, in the silence of the room, and he leaned forward, dropping them onto the coffee table.</p><p>Steve let his head fall onto the back of the couch, his eyes falling shut.  “Merry Christmas to me,” he said.</p><p>Gentle fingers touched his jaw, tipping his head to the side, and he barely had time to draw in a breath before lips brushed against his cheekbone, soft and light, with just the barest scratch of a beard to convince him it was real.</p><p>Steve’s eyes opened, and Tony was smiling down at him, backlit by Christmas lights.  His hair was disordered, his tie long gone, and his vest hung open over his shirt.  He looked tired and rumpled and perfect, and Steve loved him so much he ached.</p><p>Tony leaned an arm on the couch next to Steve, his eyes dancing.  “You rang?” he asked, his voice low and husky.  “Sorry.  I couldn’t resist.”</p><p>Steve blinked at him.  “I-  Oh.”  He looked down at the mistletoe bells, and smiled.  “I thought everyone else was in bed.”</p><p>Tony grinned, and set a plate down on the back of the couch.  “I just came down to steal another cream puff,” he said.  He reached out, his thumb rubbing against Steve’s cheek, and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath catching in his throat.  “Sorry, I managed to get chocolate…” He pulled away, and Steve’s eyes shot open in time to see him straighten up.  “I blame the cream puff, let me get a napkin-”</p><p>Steve twisted around, going up on his knees on the couch, bringing himself face to face and eye to eye with Tony.  Tony blinked at him, confusion sweeping over his face, and Steve leaned in.  “Why didn’t you-” He took a deep breath, and saw Tony’s eyes drop to his mouth.  “You didn’t.”</p><p>Tony gave his head a quick shake.  “I didn’t…  What?” he asked, and there was a strange note to his voice.</p><p>“Ring the mistletoe,” Steve said.</p><p>Tony smiled at him.  It didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “Of course I did.”</p><p>“No.  You didn’t.” </p><p>“Could’ve sworn I did,” Tony said, but his smile was tight now.  Thin.  “Didn’t realize anyone was paying attention.”  </p><p>Steve smiled, and it didn’t hurt the way he’d expected it to.  “I’m always paying attention.”</p><p>Tony’s tongue flicked out, wetting his lips and Steve went a little dizzy for a second.  “And what would you have done if I had?” he asked.</p><p>He couldn’t breathe.  And it didn’t seem to matter.  </p><p>Steve leaned in, slow and cautious, his hands still locked on the back of the couch.  He held Tony’s gaze until the last second, until he could feel Tony’s breath on his lips, until he could swear he could hear Tony’s heart beating.</p><p>He let his eyes close as his lips brushed against Tony’s.  </p><p>It barely counted as a kiss, and it was the best kiss he’d ever had.  </p><p>“That,” he whispered against Tony’s mouth.  “And this.”  The second kiss was just as soft, just as chaste, but he allowed himself to linger this time, his breath mingling with Tony’s as he coaxed a response from Tony’s lips.</p><p>Steve pulled back, inch by painful inch, and Tony was standing there, his eyes closed, his lips parted.  Tony took a deep breath.  “Are you drunk?”</p><p>Steve’s head fell forward on a choked off laugh.  “No.”  He reached up, his fingers brushing against his lips, and his hand was shaking.  “I don’t think so.”</p><p>Tony’s head bobbed in a slight nod.  “Am I drunk?”</p><p>He’d tasted of chocolate and champagne.  Steve decided not to mention that.  “Are you?”</p><p>“I didn’t think so.”  Tony’s eyes opened, and Steve lost his breath again.  “I am…” His shoulders flexed, his hands braced on the back of the couch.  “I’m careful around you.  Because if I’m not-”  He laughed, and it was hard and sharp and held an edge that Steve didn’t understand.  “You kissed me.”</p><p>Steve nodded.  “I’ve wanted to.  For a long time.”  He looked back at the table, where the mistletoe bells lay, almost forgotten.  “I figured this…  Might be my only chance.”  He looked back, and Tony was staring at him, his face carefully blank.  “Figured I should take it.”  His lips twitched into a pained smile.  “I-”</p><p>“How long?” Tony asked, and Steve stopped.  Tony leaned in.  “How long?”  Steve opened his mouth, and Tony’s hand shot up, his index and middle fingers pressing against Steve’s lips.  “Don’t answer that. Don’t-”  He leaned in.  “Kiss me.”</p><p>Steve smiled, his breath coming a little too hard, a little too fast.  “I did.  Twice, actually.”  Tony’s face was flushed, his pupils big and dark. “I think it’s your turn.”</p><p>Tony’s hands caught the front of Steve’s sweater, his fingers locking on the fabric and pulling him in, and Steve let him, laughing as Tony’s mouth found his.  The kiss was everything he’d been hoping for, and it was somehow so, so much better, even as their noses bumped and the back of the couch became an frustrating impediment.</p><p>When they finally broke apart, Steve was breathing hard, and Tony was cursing under his breath.  “Oh, fuck this,” he said, bracing his hands on the back of the couch and vaulting over it.  Laughing, Steve caught him, both of them tumbling awkwardly back onto the couch. </p><p>His knee bumped Tony’s, Tony’s elbow bounced off of his shoulder, and Steve let himself fall backwards, Tony going right along with him.  Lying flat on his back, Tony on top of him, he struggled to breathe.  “Three steps,” he managed.  “Three steps to go around the end, and you had to jump it?”</p><p>“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Tony said, his eyes darting over Steve’s face.  “A lot of things seemed like a good idea at the time.”  His body was solid and warm and perfect, pressed so close to Steve’s that Steve could feel him breathe, could feel the flex of his hips and the slight twitch of Tony’s leg against his.</p><p>His fingers slid against the line of Steve’s jaw, his thumb brushing against Steve’s lower lip.  “I’ve thought of kissing you so often,” he whispered, and Steve’s whole body arched off the couch, pressing against Tony’s.  Tony’s thumb teased his lips, and Steve let his mouth fall open.  Tony exhaled, and it shuddered in the air between them.  “This is, so, so much better than I could ever have imagined.”</p><p>Steve managed a smile.  “You could do it again, if you wanted,” he offered.  “I wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>Tony grinned.  “I’m not boring you?” He shifted his weight, his knees braced on the couch on either side of Steve’s hips, and Steve arched up, catching his mouth for another kiss.  It was hot and long and deep, and Steve’s hands slid up Tony’s back, cradling the back of his neck.</p><p>“Tony,” he whispered.  “I-”</p><p>Tony’s head snapped back.  “Wait,” he gasped.  He stared down at Steve, his eyes huge, his pupils blown wide.  “Those flowers.  Those were MY flowers.”</p><p>Steve stared up at him, his mouth working helplessly.  Tony grabbed him by the front of the sweater.  “Did you-  You gave me roses.”  He leaned in, urgent about it.  “Those were my roses.” </p><p>Steve started to laugh.  “Yes,” he managed, pressing a hand to his eyes.  “Is that what you’re taking from this?  Really?” His hand flopped to his side, and he grinned up at Tony, laughter bubbling through him.  “Yes.  I gave them to you, or I-” He shook his head.  “I tried.”</p><p>Tony pushed himself upright, his hands braced on Steve’s chest, and that was nice, that was so nice.  “I’m getting my fucking flowers back.”</p><p>“Sorry, you gave them to Jan for the buffet table, and I learned my lesson, never doing that again,” Steve said, grinning at him.  “I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the price tag on that bouquet, and you just…”  He was laughing again, laughing so hard he couldn’t get the words out.  “Gave them to Jan.”</p><p>Tony made a pained noise, his head falling back, and God, but that was a lovely view.  “When did you develop subtlety?” he asked.  He looked down at Steve, and his eyes were brilliant.  “In all seriousness, you are the bluntest human being I’ve ever met, and now?  Now you try to be subtle?” He leaned in, his fingers spreading against Steve’s chest.  “I have been in a constant state of confusion and arousal for the last two weeks and I don’t know which one was more painful, next time, will you please just say ‘wanna fuck?’ so we don’t have to do this?”</p><p>Steve took a deep breath, and another.  “Wanna fuck?” he asked, and Tony’s hand was over his mouth before he even got the words out.</p><p>Tony was breathing hard now, his shoulders rising and falling with the force of it.  “Okay,” he said, and he sounded wrecked.  “Okay.  No.  That was a-”  His eyes shut, and he exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.  “That was a mistake, never do that again, I think I just had a goddamn stroke.”</p><p>Steve smiled against his palm, and when Tony’s fingers twitched, he reached up, catching Tony’s wrist and lifting his hand away.  He didn’t let go, just let his fingers tangle with Tony’s.  “How about I just ask you out?” he whispered.</p><p>Tony’s lips twitched in a smile.  “Where are we going?” he whispered back.</p><p>Steve arched up, stealing one more kiss.  “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure we can figure it out on the way.”</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>*</p><p>*December 25th*</p><p>Steve woke slowly, blinking against the early morning light.  The warm, solid body curled against his was a surprise, and achingly familiar, all at the same time.  He slid a hand up Tony’s chest, trying to memorize the feel of his skin, the sound of his breathing as he slowly started to wake.</p><p>Tony’s shoulder flexed under Steve’s lips, and he shifted, making a grumbling noise under his breath.  “Oh, God, you’re a cuddler,” he said, and Steve grinned.</p><p>“Mmmm.” Steve wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist, pulling him close.  “I’m as surprised as you are.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised, I’m just disappointed,” Tony said, utterly deadpan, and Steve choked on a laugh.   “I really should have a questionnaire or some way to weed out this kind of a thing before it becomes a problem.”  He threw a hand in the air.  “‘Do you turn into some sort of octopus with separation anxiety after sex or do you roll over and go to sleep on your side of the bed like a reasonable person?’”</p><p>Steve would take offense to that, but Tony hadn’t moved, hadn’t even tried to pull away.  Steve kissed the nape of his neck, the back of his shoulder, loving the way he could feel Tony’s muscles flex beneath the skin.  “Pretty sure this IS my side of the bed we’re both on.”</p><p>Tony pulled away, propping himself up on his elbow to look around.  Steve grinned up at him, because he was all sleepy eyes and disastrous hair.  Tony made a displeased sound and collapsed back onto the pillows.  “You must’ve pulled me over here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I must’ve,” Steve agreed.  “Probably going to do it again.” He arched his eyebrows.  “If that’s really a deal breaker for you on this relationship.”</p><p>Tony heaved a melodramatic sigh.  “I will learn to tolerate it.”</p><p>“Noble of you.” Steve rolled over, glancing at the clock.  “Want breakfast before we go down to open presents?”</p><p>“I never want breakfast,” Tony said, throwing an arm over his face.  “Let’s just stay here and open presents in bed.”</p><p>“Is your present just a ribbon tied around your dick?” Steve asked, making Tony laugh.</p><p>“It COULD have been, but you had to dilly-dally around starting a relationship until after I’d already bought your present,” Tony said.  “I’ll save that for next year.”</p><p>“My birthday’s just a few months away,” Steve pointed out.</p><p>“Noted.” Tony reached out, his fingers trailing over Steve’s cheek.  “Let’s just skip opening presents and stay here for the rest of the day.”</p><p>Steve smiled.  “Do you really think that someone from this group of scofflaws and miscreants won’t break the door down and drag us out of here, lack of clothes be damned?”</p><p>Tony pushed himself up on one elbow, brushing a kiss against Steve’s forehead, his nose, and his lips.  “I’d like to see them try.”</p><p>Steve kissed him back.  “Don’t think they can?”</p><p>“Not at all, I’d just love to see it,” Tony said, making Steve laugh.  “Your ass is a work of art.”</p><p>“Thanks, I guess.” Steve looked at the door.  “Okay, then.  I’ll get coffee, and we can ignore reality for another thirty minutes.”</p><p>Tony’s fingers rattled against the surface of the arc reactor.  “Are you going to put on pants?”</p><p>“I mean, I can-”</p><p>“THAT is a deal breaker,” Tony said, and Steve threw back the covers.</p><p>“Fine,” he said, rolling to his feet.  “Coffee it is.” He headed for the door, doing his best to ignore the wolf whistle from the bed behind him.  “Behave yourself!”</p><p>“Never.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well I finished it before the end of January.  I'll..  I'll take that at this point.</p><p>Any kind words would be, as always, appreciated.  Thank you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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